The Bay
by Lina-the-dEmEnTeD AUTHOR
Summary: Gravedale High: A full Harvest Moon illuminates all that is strange and wild. Especially in Gravedale’s resident werewolf. Will contain R/V Veggie.
1. Chapter 1

Description: A full Harvest Moon illuminates all that is strange and wild. Especially in Gravedale's resident werewolf. R/V Veggie

A/N: This is mainly a creepy modern-style Gravedale High fic about transformation and identity, circulating around the main character in this story Reggie. There will be some side romance/sexual tension/bit-o-smut between two male characters. If you don't wish to read about that, then kindly press backspace. There will also be cursing...did I mention sexual tension already?

More A/N: I wanted to have this whole story done by Halloween. Now it's the middle of fall and I have only one chapter done. Joni Mitchell was right about seasons going round and round...and painted ponies goin' up and down...

Even more A/N: I do not own Gravedale High. Gravedale High (c) Hanna-Barbera

**Chapter: Bell**

Reggie never wore glasses during the dreams he could remember the following morning. Significant dreams.

He felt his pulse rise, wrenching at the pooling sheets below him.

The bed did not dip beneath the additional weight, rather this presence hovered between Reggie and his sheets. Yet he felt himself press further and further into the mattress.

The plot had begun so long ago in this particular story. As if he'd skipped the first twelve chapters of a book, a thing he'd never do in his waking hours. Dreams often gave their holders the innate ability to know everything, without explanation or reason.

A hand whisked along his rib cage, it's fingers snaking through the wolf teen's soft layer of fur. He shuddered a gasp he could not suppress, the night air cooling his tongue. He writhed sleepily as another hand dipped below his waistline.

A mouth pressed into his, echoing a moan without a voice, that bounced against his throat. The owner made no haste in moving down Reggie's jaw and neck, a fiery sensation trailing against his flesh.

His handler was a being released from repression, un-bashful, assertive and without self control. And in this lustful wake, Reggie was quick to comply.

Wrapping his arms around the shoulders looming above, the lycan readied his claws, preparing to slowly drag them dow-

_***AWOOOOGAAHHHH!!***_

_**-Gooooooooood morning dudes and dudettes! This is Gill-**_

_**-And Frankentyke!**_

_**-Here to wish you a perfectly grisly October day on this totally sick Thursday mornin'!**_

_***DAH DAH DAAAAHHH DUUUUMMM***_

_**-Your preaching to the choir man. I hope this warm, crappy weather clears up before tomorrow's Har-**_

The voices of his friends from Mr. Schneider's class were silenced by a gentle press of a button on his radio-alarm clock, rather than a series of blind and clumsy slaps. Reggie sighed, allowing the bristling fur on his spine to resettle.

He thought about the events that lead to the slackers seizing control of the Gravedale High airwaves. One day their teacher, Mr. Schneider, pulled Gill and Frankentyke aside and told them that in order to graduate in a year, they would need to express more interest in the school's pre-approved extracurricular activities. And to be quick about it.

One misunderstanding lead to another, and now Reggie found himself wondering what the liberal media saw in loud, clownish disc-jockeys and obnoxious sound effects. Or how the two mustered this much energy so early in the morning.

He was staring into the abyss of the wrong side of the bed.

Silence hung heavily in the stale, and chilled morning air. Reggie curled deep into the damp warmth of his pillow, trying to slink back into the remnants of his dreams. However the chances of achieving REM and reentering that oasis in the next five minutes were slim.

And to expect to stay for five measly minutes, then leave on his own free will, was an impossible task. His overpowering logic would not let him forget this.

_7:02 am. 14 seconds. _Reggie rarely needed to look at the clock. The green glowing digits on the radio-alarm were nothing but blurs whenever he wasn't wearing his glasses.

The R&R ship had sailed and he needed to prepare for the day ahead. He stretched his lean arms with a great yawn. _C'mon Reggie, wake up..._he thought, encouraging himself from the pillow. _Carpe diem, as they say. Rise and sh-_

His stream of thought was stopped by an unignorable ache between his legs.

"-it."he grumbled, colorfully concluding his slew of mental cheering. He was in dire need of a cold shower.

***

_14 minutes, 38 seconds. _Shaking out his damp hair a third time, and literally by instinct, shaking out a leg, he slipped out the door.

Though Gill and Frankentyke's sources were often questionable, their meteorology had been spot on. A fresh and scenic morning fog had blown in two, maybe three and a half hours previous, from Reggie's prediction. Blown was not the correct term. The mist was an exhalation of warm breath, hanging over the school grounds.

No blistering chill. No eerie howl of wind, weather more preferable to monsters. Not ONE spark of lightening, ripping through a single, solitary, fat, black little cloud could be seen whatsoever.

Reggie couldn't see anything at all for that matter. Even with his glasses, now slightly fogged with condensation around their rims. The horizon was obscured by a blank void. A few yards away, puncturing through the veil of white, he could just make out the red leaves of the woods, browning in their final days before their eventual fall.

_Hopefully it'll at least drizzle later..._he mused, drinking in the air with a deep breath. Mid sip however, he felt something.

Being a creature of great intelligence, and part-beast, he had the benefit of great discernment, and intuition. What most called ESP, or psychic powers, he clarified as a good sense of smell and hearing.

Closing his eyes, he sniffed at the hazy air again. Cautious at first, then greedily inhaling, filling his wolfish snout to the brim.

Instantly he regretted it. Something was wrong. Or different. Terribly different at least. His head swam, as the essence of everything around him engulfed his senses at once. He nearly doubled over as every sound and smell shouted for attention. Instinctively, his clamped a clawed hand over his panting mouth, trying to regain control of his perceptions.

Nerves ignited, with every blade of dead grass crunching below. The sweet-rotten perspiration of 13 distinct species of trees, amongst the dozens nearby, sent fireworks flaring in his skull.

Reaching out, searching blindly for support from any solid object, he realized he had stumbled towards the edge of the woods, in a cloud of confusion. Though his eyelids had been sealed shut, Reggie knew he had caught the embrace of the trunk of a tree. It was smooth, small knots here and there. Birch. It had begun shedding it's leaves and skin by now. He permit his free hand to explore the tree's moist, and papery bark. Distracting his mind with touch somewhat cooled the boil and bubble between his ears. He tried to clear his mind by worrying whether anyone saw him look foolish, staggering across the lawn.

_Perhaps, _he thought_ I could walk this off. _He didn't want to miss school because of overzealous sinuses. He simply didn't want to bring any unwanted attention to himself.

_7:19._

_...thirt-49 seconds!_

Mr. Schneider didn't take attendance and begin teaching until 8:15. Announcements were made over the intercom at 8:10. Five minutes to eight the warning bell sounded before the official Bell at 8:00. When the weather wasn't vindictive, and he had time to spare, Reggie often walked to school, cutting through the woods between the Student Haunted-Housing grounds and the Gravedale High campus. The entire walk took between 29 and 32 minutes, give or take.

Standing for 20 immobile and unproductive minutes, for an 8 minute bus ride, in a cramped and loud vehicle, with a pounding headache, made walking sound all the more sensible. And pleasurable.

Ironically, in this fog he would have to resort to dependency on the very two senses that plagued him. Before he could so much as consider flipping a coin, his legs had already carried him into the foggy wood.

_Concentrate on movement Reggie... Just keep moving...body in motion stays in..._

He always followed a path, cleared by consecutive routine and his own lingering scent. It was impossible to become lost. Reggie rarely used sight to navigate through the trail, often busying that sense with images of sky, trees and any fascinating organisms he saw. He would calmly let his instincts take control, basking in the calm of the morning, growing cooler as the days went by.

No such luck this particular morning.

Squinting, he tried to see past the curtain of branch and cloud, bowing his head with every step. Searching the ground for rocks and other trip worthy hazards, on this winding path he'd taken so many times before. Breathing softly and sparingly, alternating between his nasal passage and mouth proved to be more physically and mentally demanding than he predicted.

The normal noises of the forest and it's active inhabitants were silenced and smothered by the pillowing fog. Though this predatory quiet was disturbing, Reggie felt an odd sense of comfort in the lack of noise, despite the crack of twigs and rustle of leaves he maneuvered past.

_You'll be fine...your okay...keep moving...only 25 minu...no wait...twenty-three...twent...y..._

The sound of thought began to creep off into the mist. What disturbed Reggie most was how easily his mental voice had abandoned him. Sugar dissolving into a briny sea.

Reggie's reserved and shallow tufts of breath deepened as he started to run. Feeling as though he surrendered somehow, his concentration carelessly riveted to his sprinting body; easily stripped of all precaution and fear, left only with feel. Looming tree trunks whistled by as he plunged through dense and clouded thicket.

He didn't stop to think on the pungency of the wet and fruitful earth filling his head, or the branches lashing his arms. Nor why he had given in to his unexplained and rushed desire to run. Dodging around unearthed roots and mud puddles, Reggie silently urged himself faster and further. Till the woods blurred, and he could breath in the very scent of oxygen that enveloped him whole. More than ever he wanted to lose himself wholly.

***

"Eh Vinnie, where's mah tip?"

He was so close.

So...close...

Two more steps and Vinnie would have been outside Big Daddy's Gumbo Emporium, and "regretfully" unable to hear the chef call after him.

"Uh...B.D.?" he hastily replied, weighing his options. Fabricate or flight. Vinnie opted for the nobler path, and turned to face Big Daddy with a chuckle and the famed Stoker grin. "Aww, c'mon Daddy-o. I'm ahh lil'...short in cash today 'n I have class in a few... sooooo..." he sang out, spinning on heel to grab at the glass door's handle. "I'mjustgonna-"

He was cut off by the *_**twang***_ of a butcher knife, splitting through the plaster wall by the door frame, inches from where his head was. Fortunately, his hair remained untouched.

"Big Dahdeh, whut did I tell you 'bout tossing them knives 'round?" a dour waitress groaned, not looking up from the table she was busing.

"Dis lil' blud-suckah heah wus tryin' to give me de slip." he growled, ignoring the four other patrons, old ladies idly sipping their Arachnid blood-tea. Their bulging eyes rolled within the deep sockets of their shrunken heads, as the decaying biddies continued their gossip.

Since exclusively opening the Emporium to the "inhuman" community, Big Daddy was another human that no longer feared the monster world, and those who happened to keep his restaurant in business. Meaning, every time one of his nocturnal regulars tried to make off without leaving 15% gratitude, he would NOT let them forget it.

"Nice shot." Vinnie awed at the chef's aim, oblivious to his near post-death experience.

"Ah missed."

"...yo, all I had was the coffee 'n goat heart." Vinnie reasoned with a shrug. He had wanted to add that the organ must have been marinating in it's own fluid for a few hours, but decided to keep his mouth shut. The chef may have been concealing more cutlery.

Big Daddy huffed a raspy sigh, turning toward the kitchen door, muttering something inaudible (And most likely offensive) in Creole. Before he could muster a creative way in which to maim his favorite late night miser, the waitress, Bev, bless her soul, had maneuvered behind the chef. She massaged his hulking shoulders, whispering something into his ear._ Damn was that woman good._

As the tension in the Gumbo Master's back melted away, he turned to faced the vamp teen, cracking his knuckles with a calm smirk.

Vinnie cringed, backing into the door behind him. He had good reason to worry when Big Daddy looked that happy. He'd feel safer if the man was turning different shades of red and chucking sharp objects at him.

"Eheheheh, ahrigh' Vin," Big Daddy chuckled, ducking to root through the fridge behind the counter. "ah believe we migh' be able to make a lil' deal, no?"

Vinnie had a vague idea what that meant. "...no?" he guessed, echoing meekly.

"Oui!"

"Ugh...yeah?"

"YES!!" Big Daddy shouted with glee, revealing a large brown bag, sliding it down the counter in Vinnie's direction. It skittered to a halt, inches from toppling over the counter's edge.

Delivery run. Sighing defeat, he snatched up the bag.

"Sure, whatevah."

"Good." said the chef, sparking a lighter, met by a cigarette between Bev's lips. Before she returned to gathering dirty plates, she threw a wink to the unhappy vampire and gave Big Daddy a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Dat dere goes to ze...eh," he said, scanning a yellow order slip. "Crone. An' be sho' you tell ze fly-boy he ain't got no deliveries till four den, yeah?"

Vinnie grimaced as if swallowing bad medicine. But with a sneer and groan, he managed to stomach it, knowing it was either deliveries or dish duty. So choosing the whirlpool over the rocks, he yanked open the door and walked out.

"'n bring back every cent, plus tip by lunch!" Big Daddy harped after him with additional commands. "And easy wit ze bag, I got paid a pretty penny to dispose of dem parts!"

"Yeah yeah..." Vinnie muttered, kicking up the loose pebbles in the parking lot. Cradling the armload against his hip, he dug through the back pocket, of his tight denim jeans for a small skull-shaped remote.

Whispering a single word into the device, the eyes of the skull trinket flickered red. Ten feet away, the engine of a hidden vehicle, roared from behind three cars. Vinnie couldn't help but feel ten feet taller, as he rounded the more boring cars, following that sordid hum.

It was indeed a magnificent bike; A sleek, polished crimson body, against an skeletal, onyx-black frame, gleaming wickedly. The chiseled Gladiator-spokes, from each sparkling hubcap, perfectly accented the bike's centerpiece. A pewter raven, digging it's talons into the single frosty headlight.

The statuette's head cocked to the side, tantalizing onlookers, as if to say:

"_Who me? Why, I'm the bike- Scratch that. The 'CHARIOT' Vinnie's parents got him for his birthday. And, I know what you're thinking. The first chance you get, you would knock-off every loved one you've ever had, just for the single, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to ride me ...wouldn't you?"_

"Hey Lucy." he cooed, straddling the motorcycle with a teasing sluggishness. His motorcycle. His baby. In short, he was very pleased with his mode of transportation. Vinnie was easily able to fly to school, but where was the fun in that?

With the lunch parcel, safely secured in the compartment below his plushy, black-leather seat, he gently secured his helmet. As much as he despised helmet hair, Vinnie, like most motorists, tolerated it over head trauma.

The time read 7:22 in-between the handlebars. School was about ten minutes thatta-way. Five by flight. Depending on the weather.

_Hell, I can make it in two _Vinnie challenged himself. Revving the purring engine, no human science or technology could explain, he tightened his grasp on the handlebars.

Just before he could cruise, full throttle, toward the school, he took notice of the fog that had completely covered most of the highway.

_Well damn. So much for being early._ And he was hoping to loiter and maybe squeeze in a pre-class nap.

Looping the bike around, he slithered onto the road. A lever was flipped, and light erupted from the single headlight, streaming through the swirling mists. Light was followed by a flood of music, which, to passer-byres, would be nothing but a trickle of noise.

_Screw safety._

At the velocity that Vinnie pressed, it was a miracle any bystanders would see more detail than a dark red blur. Let alone hear more than a decibel of his be-bop mix tape. His eyes fixed on the road ahead; no time to fall under the trance of the spicy melange of reds, browns and oranges he flew past.

Both music and speed drove him to such a thrill that he almost missed it. The presence of someone's blood, gyrating to a frenzied peak, sailed by.

Caught unawares by this sudden surge of formless vitality, he slowed, pulling over to the side of the road. _Just what in the name of the Impaler was that? _was the question tugging at him. He'd taken the same route almost every day to school (Or whenever he felt like showing up), and was sure as hell there was barely a soul for miles.

Vampires. The unholy predators of night, who feast on the blood of the innocent- _yadda-yadda etc_.-were adept at harkening the charge of life-force, coursing through any nearby being. Humans, animals, mimes you name it. Mortals and monsters alike, so long as they had a pulse.

He could distinctly sense the blood chiseling through this particular body system, erratically defiant, almost separate from it's warm pumping heart. Like beaker fluid in some mad chemist's lab, crystalizing and bubbling.

And just as it came, it vanished all together. Whatever it was, it was moving fast. _If they were hurt or dying, they'd have be slowin' down._ He reasoned, wondering whether or not to track down and go after the phantom enigma.

Like fingerprints, the sounds of heartbeats and the rush of blood coursing through veins were unique to the blood-drinker's ear. (The untrained human ear could not detect these distinct beats. Mortals only needed to hear an even **bum-ba-bum**, to confirm existence.) In regards to "prey", different DNA patterns, genetics and external environments, meant different body structures. Which meant different heart rates, different ailments, different advantages and disadvantages. Ergo: Signature pulses.

And Reggie thought he wasn't listening during their tutoring sessions.

Vinnie waited for a glimmer to reappear. Fledgling vamps had only so much power at his age, most of which had not even developed. He inhaled. Exhaled. And waited.

There was a Hand and Cheese Sandwich, with a side of Pota-toes Salad below his seat, threatening to go south. With a click of his kick stand, Vinnie sped off before he could linger any longer

_Probably some new age wack-job tryin' to find his center or manage his chi, or somethin'._ He managed to convince himself. Though, despite unnatural, there was the slightest familiar undertow of the presence, tickling at Vinnie. His mind wandered to the depths of the woods, as he rounded another bend.

***

The vultures didn't stir from their sleep, as Reggie lumbered beneath the branches on which they perched.

Whispers of breath escaped his barely parted lips, exposing trace glints of his canines. Reggie swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, only to find it was dry of any trace sweat.

There was no recovery as there was nothing to recover from. No aching strain, no ice-block piercing his lungs. No clawing towards the second wind, as was in every gym class. The wolf-boy felt as though he had run down the length of the hallway to make class before the bell, rather than blaze through a forest, full speed.

Ambling through the graveyard, it's occupants snoring soundly beneath the loose soil, he realized he had lost track of the time. Reggie's adroit grasp of time rarely failed him, and now that it had, he felt only a disembodied sense of anxiousness. As he approached the school, he shamelessly looked through the slowly dissipating fog toward the clock-tower.

He must have been mistaken, seeing both hands touch over the seven on the clock's face.

_I'm THAT early?_ Reggie wondered, raking a hand through his hair. As he did so, in a flash, his hand suddenly felt morphed and foreign to him. He closed his eyes, finding distraction within the serenity of tangling his claws through his scalp. As if to reach into his mind and reconstruct that dream, that hand, through ruins of memory.

The fantasy, though surreal as it was confusing, had an awfully restful effect on Reggie, warming him comfortably. Leaning into the bricks of Gravedale campus, he breathed in. Breathed out. And waited. His quaking heart had decided to make it's presence known to Reggie, steeping through his thin frame. An intoxicating buzz had fluttered up the rungs of his spine, dully humming against the base of his skull.

These palpitations were too forceful to be driven by his own body, he suddenly rationalized.

Reggie forced his eyes open, as a motorcycle approached. That feeling, drumming within his body, had channeled to the soles of his padded feet, tingling against the dusty path that circled the private High School.

The masked rider's identity, though obscured, was easily deciphered. After all, how many students rode motorcycles to school, sailing on those warm and cool winds of earned nobility and dicey haughtiness? None but Vinnie.

He hurriedly finished pulling at his orange-red mane, hoping it was tamed. Dislodging himself from his slump, he acknowledged the vampire, who curbed his bike to greet Reggie.

From three feet, he could smell the hair pomade and SPF 10,000 sun-lotion, before Vinnie could even take his helmet off.

"Hey Reg, what's-" the vampire's eyes sank downward, squinting onyx irises perplexedly. Reggie panicked at what he imagined caught the vampire teen's attention. "Where'd your shoes go?"

"Oh. OH! Uhh.." Reggie stupidly awed in confusion, mild relief quick to drip away. He tentatively glanced at his bare feet, fluffs of fur poking from the end of each pant-leg. _Where did they- _"Err well..." _Did I kick them off running through the woods?_ "Myyy feet were somewhat sweaty in this humidity." _Yes! Go with that! What happened to my socks?_

Vinnie, though not thoroughly convinced, complied with a teasing_ 'Yeah-right-okay-lets-move-on-shall-we?' _raise of an eyebrow. He knew whenever Reggie was feigning the truth, because Reggie always told the truth. He decided not bother him about the shoes whereabouts, if not on his feet.

"Yo, while you get some air, I've got a delivery to make." he said, patting the seat between his legs. Reggie, still in a daze, shifted his footing, trying not to stare at the quickness in Vinnie's hands. "But...uh hey I'll see you before class."

The vampire couldn't help but notice the erratic heart beats, just before slowing within the werewolf. Which reminded him, he needed to get to the bottom of something.

"Reg, you didn't walk all the way to school didja?"

Vinnie sensed the lycan's prodigal pulse drop, then double in speed. He likened the throb to a series of dull and muffled raps on the wall, coming from the room next to his. Always steadily increasing in speed and volume. Every. Night. Pesky neighbors.

"Why yes, b-but-and thats why I took my shoes off as well...also...because they ache-and are sweaty! Yes..." Reggie trailed, thinking quickly on his exposed and clawed toes. "N-not that I'm grieved by them or anything. No, not at all. Nothing of any major concern whatsoever...at all."

Reggie wrung his hands behind his back for a moment, avoiding Vinnie's look of confusion, drawing a breath, deciding how to conclude this tirade. He felt his eyebrows knit tenaciously together, though trying to smile, with as much comfort and control he could collect that morning, remembering he wasn't alone.

With a humbled, exhausted sigh, finding humor in the absurd, he connected sights with Vinnie. Hoping he didn't come off as a complete lunatic, Reggie added "I'm glad you decided to come in early today." relaxing a bit. The vamp's eyebrow, previously suspended high on his forehead, had softly descended. A vorpal fang glinted between his blithe and crescent-moon grin.

"You know, " Vinnie said with a shrug, the adjustment of a sleek chrome mirror, capturing his attention. "I'd be happy to give you a ride..." Reggie could see his reflection, flanked by the warped brick wall, stretched against the polished metal. His tiny visage on Vinnie's bike reminded Reggie of a tattoo. He didn't know whether to receive this offer as a joke or not.

"Thank you." he responded, with a bluntness that would shock any of Vinnie's 'fans' into a section 8 psychiatric ward. "Regardless, there is no way you'd ever get me near _that_ thing." He folded his arms, finalizing his decision. Had Lucy, _that_ motorcycle in question, any personified thought of her own, she would pitch a fit, and scream _Do you know, with whom you have the honor of standing before!?! _She'd then fidget and pout, waiting for the Prince of Darkness to defend her honor.

Vinnie's response would have sent Lucy into cardiac arrest, as he broadened his grin into a teasing smirk, snorting a laugh, without any sign of jilt or offense.

"We'll see..." the vampire warned, gently bouncing deftly on the toes of his suede leather boots, without toppling his bike. "Yo, unless your scared...then I'd understand..."

"Please, don't manipulate what little teenaged 'thanatos-danger-and-doom-drive' I haven't already quashed from my system." Reggie muttered in a low voice, rolling his eyes.

"Whu-what was that?" Vinnie asked innocently, cupping one pointed ear, faking confusion. "I couldn't hear you over your trembling heart." Twice he twisted the handle bar, revving the motorcycle's fierce engine, shaking his head and shrugging to confirm his point.

Reggie's heart rate fluttered and toes curled at the mere reminder of his friend's Vampiric, pulse-reading powers, feeling a bit exposed.

All the same, the werewolf was safe to assume Vinnie's intention was not to make him uncomfortable. There was only one way he was certain to regain his dignity and counteract. It was a bit of a chance, but...

Cupping his paws around his muzzle, Reggie shouted "I said-WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR HAIR!!?", loud and clear, over the roar of Lucy's engine. A dead silence emitted the air, as Vinnie released the handlebar from his slackening grasp. Revived from terrible shock, he thrust himself towards the tiny mirror, angling his head in every degree. Not a strand out of place.

"It looks nice." the lycan stated cooly. His hands stuffed in his pockets, a tongue-in-cheek grin had grown, suppressing a snort of laughter.

"Tou...che Reg." the vampire teen slumped in relief. "It's nice to know you wouldn'tave let me show my face in public with hair like that old bat Cro-"

"**MISTERVINCENTSTOKER!"** a disembodied voice bellowed from the abyss, loud enough to launch Vinnie eight feet into the air. Instead, he squeezed the life from his handlebars, like a terrified cat on a tree limb. Reggie rubbed the still tender spots around his ears, throbbing from the amplified banshee screech that was the school's Head Mistress, crackling over the intercom.

"**You will cease your juvenile bantering and bring me my lunch BEFORE IT SPOILS!!" **Mistress Crone demanded, the loudspeaker cut off with a shrill squeak. Both teens looked up to see Venetian blinds of one of the windows above, wriggle aggressively, then shut with a unified snap.

"...I hate it when she does that..." Reggie moaned, removing his glasses. Before he could so much as stroke the fur of his temples with his free finger-tips, the lycan suddenly felt a sense of distrust in himself. In what he was doing. Frames quickly returned to their place on the bridge of his snout, masking some embarrassment, no one but he could explain.

Vinnie unhinged himself from the strangle-hold on the bike's handlebars, smoothing his shadow-black hair, regaining composure. "I'd better go before she gets Van Helsing on the phone again." he huffed recalling Crone's most recent spoon-fed motivational lecture.

Reggie moved back a step, which felt like a mile of painful cowardice. The desire towards escaping public-view had burst inside him. There was nothing he felt he could do but let the current carry him away. "Ok, see you in class..." the lycan said mid-turn, off to find some solitude to bury his thoughts.

"Yo-wait a sec. Reg!" Vinnie called out, as if remembering something of dire importance. And of course, this drew Reggie back to him, eager to listen, important or not.

"Yes?"

"I'm eh, glad too." the rebel said after a second's deliberation. "-That I got here early, that is." he added, easing interpretation, before securing his sleek black helmet.

Reggie smiled for a moment, stretching his arms, clinging to false boredom. Hands folded behind his head, he asked with a teasingly disinterested yawn, "I don't suppose you'll try to make this a daily habit?".

"Lets not go nuts." was Vinnie's rebuttal, snapping his visor down. Again Reggie could see his reflection, this time imprinted against the helmet shielding the vamp's eyes.

Watching as Vinnie turned the corner, Reggie tried to remember what exactly occupied the entirety of the vampire's night, besides the allure and urge to skulk in the darkness. _He doesn't talk about going to parties or clubs...I hope he's not bothering humans_, he thought, climbing up the School's front steps, dawdling a moment on his concern. After all, the greatest danger to the monster world was the human one. _And because they're primarily fearful by nature, it won't take the humans much rationalizing and tolerance to form an angry mob, _Reggie realized grimly. He had to remember, some humans, such as Mr. Schneider, were open minded and kind.

_Perhaps_, Reggie reconsidered, looking in on himself, that he was the only student at Gravedale High, to never risk perfect attendance, grades or openly relish the thrill and fun of disastrous actions. Draining and sacrificing the abundance of his youth and spirit towards school and structure. Vinnie was all that he was not, and vice versa.

_I suppose I'm in need of a break._ The lycan thought, yanking the doors open, instantly stubbing his small toe on the door's sharp corner. _And my gym shoes..._ he remembered, gnashing his teeth in pain.

But first he needed to find a clock. He had lost track of time while talking to Vinnie.

***

Mistress Crone flicked a bit of filth found beneath the (thankfully) barren ring finger nail of her living hand. Meanwhile her prosthetic hand, cast metal as it was menacing, busied itself sorting her mail. She sat ridged and annoyed, ignoring the tom-foolery of the school's rotting and constantly fighting mascots outside her door. While reaching into the in-box on her sepulcher office desk, to sign a document of approval, Clawford screeched, colliding into the doorframe. Clearly the game of cat-and-mouse was not in the road-kill cat's favor.

Without standing, let alone looking up from Coach Cadaver's request to allow "Cruel and Unnatural Detention", she waved her gauntlet hand, and the haunted thing shot forth, slamming her door shut.

"I ought to just hunt down and eat _those _two." she growled, wondering when that delivery punk would arrive with her lunch. Her faithful hand crept back to her, clicking along the cool marble floor. Of course she wasn't hungry at the moment, but just wanted to get the soon-to-be lunch in the fridge, aware how speedily human-crafted food could sour. Or not sour well enough.

Minutes ago, she had stood by her window at approximately 7:37, per usual, awaiting her usual delivery boy and recluse student, the fly-boy, to soar by with a sputtering buzz. Due to a diet primarily consisting of sugar and caffeine, the fly was distressingly fixed on arriving every day of the week, precisely at that exact time. No amount of Crone "persuasion" could fumble his internal and bizarre schedule. When he wasn't fleeing Sal, the School Chef, he held down a job working at Big Daddy's restaurant. Everyone who loved the human's food knew that.

Two minutes passes, and the rotten wood of the window pane had crumbled beneath the impatient grip of her false barbaric hand. Before the Mistress could begin lining her window with sticky, fly-motel strips, a rousing engine from outside caught her attention. Striding to the adjacent window, she peered between the blinds and looked below, to see none other than Vinnie Stoker, the often replacement delivery boy. She should have guessed that this was the explanation as to why her lunch was tardy, and why the delinquent was so early.

He sat on his flashy motor-cycle, most likely an undeserved gift from his father, forever spoiling his only son. Mistress Crone knew very well that the Count had wealth to spare, nearly matching J.P. Ghastly's family fortune.

And, as predictable (Or so she had hoped) as the morning delivery, when threats of expulsion reached Transylvania, due to the boy's behavior, a carrier bat would return with a handsome donation, made out to the school. A grotesque and beneficial sugar-sword indeed. Her reward for disciplining a rule-less unholy-terror, without avail.

Well, every student body generation of Gravedale High had it's own lovable deviant. And on the other hand (No pun intended), in a bizarre turn of events, Vincent's misbehavior had helped the school renovate it's overly-decrepit and crumbling facets.

Of course, these threats of throwing the lad out entirely, had ceased in numbers in the recent seasons. Enrolling the brat in Max Schneider's human course did wonders, somewhat dissuading Mr. Stoker's rebellious streak. Who knew humans, meek and stupid as they were, could be so useful.

Another voice shouted, broken and muffled over the bike's engine. The Head Mistress tugged down on the blinds with one glinting finger, to see it was Reginald Moonshroud, Gravedale's strait-A model student and yet another member of Schneider's potpourri.

What this perfect student was doing, associating himself with a blood-thirsty hoodlum, was beyond her explanation.

Mistress Crone stood watching the werewolf from behind, hands in his pockets, sniggering as a panic look crossed the vampire, who made a beeline for his bike's mirror. _Hmmm._ He wasn't as naive as he looked.

_Oh enough of this! _She raged, snatching the microphone from her desk, marching back to the window with it. She was going to enjoy this.

"MISTERVINCENTSTOKER!!" she crowed over the loudspeaker, her voice echoing the near empty halls. She could not help but smirk as a visible wave of shock ran up their arching spines, though her tone held only rage.

"You will cease your juvenile bantering and bring me my lunch BEFORE IT SPOILS!!" she declared. As she pressed the off switch, her icy demeanor turned off as well. Crone instantly let loose a terrible laugh, yanking the blinds shut.

She may have been awful, but enjoyed every moment of it. Mistress Crone was a woman of dominance and a pillar of leadership, with little time for pleasure. The least she deserved was the right to confound and torture a gaggle undisciplined teenagers once in a while.

Her small pleasure began to weather, as her desk clock struck a quarter to eight. Just as she began to feel the second boiling of annoyance, there was a rap on the door. She grinned maliciously, her chiseled cheekbones rising.

"Cooooome in."

Vampires could not enter a place of solitude or sanctuary, without an invitation the first time. Everyone knew this. However this was far from Vinnie's first visit to Mistress Crone's office.

The leather clad vampire entered, brown bag in tow, lips pursed tight over his fangs. He hid his misery well, but not well enough. The school's Head had a nose for adolescent anguish. "Ah, Mr. Stoker." she purred in her deceptive tone, as if she hadn't scared him to post-death five minutes ago.

"The total comes to 8.75...ma'am." Vinnie said all too calmly, all to gently placing the large bundle on her desk. She frowned, hoping she would be able to chastise him for any overt rudeness she had come to expect from him. Instead she paid him exactly what she owed.

"There you are. No more, no less." she said handing him the money with nothing extra. "Your tip covered the precious moments of my life I just wasted, quite nicely." she said with a curling grin.

Knowing Mistress Crone wouldn't go out of her way to complain to Big Daddy himself, Vinnie could care less. _Glad to contribute you lovable sadist!_ Grinning insincerely, he stuffed the money into his back pocket. Four or five bucks ought to cover all the crap he'd gone through, just because he skipped out on the damn tip.

"I couldn't agree with you more Head Mistress Crone." he seethed cheerfully, more than happy to make a break for the exit. Vinnie would rather spend a gym class in the blazing red hot sun, than remain to hear the woman gloat.

"Have a wonderful day!" he sang, turning to make a break for the door.

"By the way," she called after him, her voice reeling Vinnie back around, trapping him in her doorway. _Geez, this again!?_ He cursed his inability to make a clean getaway that morning.

"I couldn't help but wonder what words you were exchanging with Mr. Moonshroud." she queried, her hand disassembling itself to pull the lunch over to a lonesome fridge. "Bartering 'notes' perhaps?" she asked, stressing the word 'notes' as a code for something the interrogator wouldn't say out loud. Cheat codes? Drugs maybe? Extortion money?

_Don't go there you bitch. _he soundlessly snarled, beneath an unmovable surface. Had he not known how to utilize the gentlemanly manner upon which he was raised, the manner he used **voluntarily**, he would have said all this out loud. Three or four years ago, without a doubt, he would say exactly what he was thinking, without a second thought...and maybe jump on her desk and do a little dance.

At this point, he almost felt like an idiot for feeling even slightly insulted or angry. He was far from stupid (lazy and often inconsiderate perhaps, but not stupid) and knew why everyone, outside Schneider's class, wondered on Reggie's and his _shared phenomenon _from every angle.

Presently, as someone not stupid, he learned how to preserve his dignity and his ass. He merely stood his ground, without batting or rolling an eye.

"I wanted to give Reg a ride this morning, and he never got back to me." he half-lied, half-truthed. _Hell,_ he guaranteed _Reggie's getting that ride anyway. _"We wouldn't be very good friends if we never spoke." he assessed without the need for false innocence, often reserved to explain to Max the absence of his homework or reports.

The Mistress spoke, after an three second absence of sound, save the ticking of the clock on her desk. "No, I suppose not." Another three seconds and a stoical stare-down passed, before she spoke again, pulling a handkerchief from her breast pocket. "He's a good student." she said and nothing else, polishing the metal fingers of her reunited hand. Her word spoken, she looked up, thinking Vinnie had said something.

Nothing. The vampire had taken his form from out her door, and gone.

_Without my dismissal? How rude. _She thought somewhat slighted, though her moribund-blue face smiled daintily. The Head Mistress began to shuffled a stack of bills, then paused, her pointed harlequin chin resting atop her metal appendage. _They are cute though..._

***

It was fortunate Reggie's high-tops were black; unnoticeable at first glance, he wasn't wearing his normally conservative shoes. Always economical, he had bought the dark colored sneakers to hide any future signs of staining or fatigue.

Currently he was staring at the pair on his feet, losing interest in Frankentyke's lengthy tale. Gill wisely remembered his headphones, bobbing his head rhythmically. Apparently the short, reanimated monster assumed his aquatic best friend was whole heartedly confirming and agreeing with the story.

"-and this guy's all 'Dahhrr, I'm gonna jump!'. Right Gill-Man? Right?_ (nod-nod)_ Yeah! And I kept asking this dweeb how much he weighed an-"

"Uh, Frankentyke," Reggie interjected, interrupting the monster's retelling of a 'confidential' story from his radio-show's crisis hotline. Frankentyke froze in the middle of his pantomiming. "Forgive me, but most humans are not favorable of promoting suici-"

"No way man!" the small green teenager protested, raising a palm of denial. "He made the call, it was HIS choice to take my advice or not."

"Franken-dude did, like, never** claim **to be a doctor." said Gill playing the logicist and joining the conversation. Through some miracle, the swamp mutant's finned ear managed to pick up parts of the conversation that perked his interest, past the throbs of the hip-hop mix tape.

"But, if I remember correctly," Reggie inquired, "Isn't that segment of the show called 'A sitting with _Dr._ Frank'? You may be in danger of frau-"

"Man! Authority! It's **our **radio show, and **our **ratings rule!" Frankentyke huffed childishly, kicking up a layer of dust with a platform sneaker. "Besides whatever happened to Freedom of Speech?"

_7:43 am. Twenty-four seconds._ Though a bother to debate with deaf contenders, based on the degree of right to consultation, held by unskilled non-professionals, Reggie still felt much more level headed than he had that morning. Even as he walked into the near empty public setting, still overflowing to the brim with the scent-history of hundreds of other beings, he still managed to soothe his fried nerves.

Minutes ago, while lacing his sneakers, Reggie was approached by the green-skinned duo, asking if he would help them form a few survey questions on Economic Growth and Trade in the Monster Realm. Gill and Frankentyke had originally filled their afternoon slot by pranking the school's "unsuspecting" victims. This backfired, as their _patsies_ knew ahead of time, when and where the DJs would try to humiliate them, once the two discussed the nature of the pranks live on the air.

Reggie politely agreed to help them, despite knowing both would most likely deliver unto him an unholy amount of paperwork and more. The ominous bulge in Frankentyke's long abused backpack was evidence enough.

When he asked about the progress of their show, Reggie could barely get a word in edgewise. Frankentyke had already begun preparing his defense case, numbering (on one hand) the callers who didn't hang up furiously, and the callers who were not "unexplainably disconnected". Reggie just grinned with an uncertain shrug, hoping for their sake, the talk-show slipped beneath the FBI's radar. Or worse the FCC.

As Frankentyke's one-sided discussion continued, without warning, hot-ice chill buzzed behind Reggie's eyes, streaming down to his chest and throat. Deaf to the boy's ranting, Reggie found himself only thinking of that 'Thanatos-Drive" he had mentioned earlier.

A soundless alarm rang in his head, as a harbinger of impeding danger. An urge to confrontation. But what, where and who? His ears perked and eyes narrowed at nothingness.

_A threat. _A voice from inside him urged. An assertive voice, effortlessly solidifying, clawing at him, driven without a need for logic, assured him 'something wicked this way comes'. Reggie fought the need to look around for any antagonists, not knowing what would come of moving in the slightest. The werewolf's claws, low at his sides, clenched into fists, trying to shake this adrenaline off. _Where are you?_

"Reg, dude?"

_A threat!_

"Earth to Reggie! Beam back down from _Galaxy _High to Gravedale wouldja! **REH-GIEE!**"

"Uhm-hmm." Reggie mechanically breathed low, only noticing when Frankentyke and Gill exchanged concerned glances. "Oh, erm sorry...Frankentyke." he apologized, somewhat still dazed, still pulling away somewhat. "...I was deep in thought...I didn't...what were you saying?"

Frankentyke sighed arrogantly, as if dealing with a small child, rather than one of the most gifted students at Gravedale High. "I saaaaaaaid, can you meet up with Gill 'n me before four? Cuz the show airs at four-thirty."

"Y-yes of course." he quickly complied to Gill and Frankentyke's relieved surprise. Normally Reggie would gently remind the two, that they should have taken responsibility and prepared much earlier, but at the moment, unbeknownst to them, he needed to convince the two to leave.

"I know! Lets get started immediately." he announced, displaying an odd, yet unsuspicious enthusiasm for the burden, seemingly broken from his trance.

"You two go ahead without me," Reggie said gently forcing both to turn, a hand each of their shoulders, guiding them in the direction of Mr. Schneider's home-room around the corner.

"-aaand I'll meet you in class."

"But, I totally spaced on breakfast this morning." Gill protested as Reggie ushered from behind.

"I don't mind in the least, I'll get you something."

"Oooh! Chocolate-covered mushrooms! And don't worry Sal, like, always leaves some out from the night before."

"Of course."

"Same here, Reg-man." Frankentyke piped in obliviously, his high-tops skidding along the cracking stone floor.

"_Certainly!_ I'll see you in a few minutes." Reggie assured them, shooing the pair around the corner, and out of sight.

35 seconds passed before he was certain that they had reached the classroom door. Unless they decided to play hooky. Again.

Following his battle-worn instincts, he scanned the cross-halls, his eyes searching the thick and wet shadows for anyone or anything lurking or waiting. Perpetually asking himself, _What am I doing?_,without expecting a response or answer.

The catacomb halls had always harbored occupancy. Whether students, teachers or a lost soul, just passing through to the other side. But someone was looking for him. And he could feel it. Oddly enough, despite the fear wrapping itself in knots within Reggie, he didn't feel nauseous or upset. A rare, and good sign.

He didn't have to search too far. The stench of sweaty socks intensified as the lycan walked towards an unlit stairwell. Reggie had found him.

"May I help you Gnardo?" Reggie called out apathetically. From behind the spiraling cobblestone staircase, the gargoyle emerged, his talons wrapped tight along the side.

"Moonshroud, I knew that nose of yours would find me." he grunted with a smile. He hadn't expected the studious werewolf to come alone, but rather cower behind those two rejects Gnardo had spied him talking to. This made it all the more easier.

Reggie noted how different the former jock star looked without the tattered uniform he and all the other players alike, seemed to never remove. He had once heard along the grapevine that the Gargoyle and his team-mates alienated a freshman bench-warmer, who had the audacity to suggest the team wash and change their uniforms. Or perhaps wear something more comfortable during class hours. Coach Cadaver wouldn't have it. His only wish was to inspire his team to "Bury" and "Destroy" the visiting one. The Coach 'insisted' the team members constantly wear their protective gear like a second skin (Or first, considering one or two members of the team didn't have skin to begin with.) a tradition he continued for decades, with no exceptions. If you didn't wear the uniform, you weren't part of his team.

The Gargoyle scratched loose grains from his chin, deciding how to approach achieving his goal at hand. "Ya see, I got a big project coming up this Friday, but I completely forgot what day it was due." The sedimentary beast let himself free-fall, feet landing on the floor with a great shaking thud. Gnardo's wing remained pinned down over his cracked and mossy shoulder, to an hand-down sleeveless jersey, sporting the faded Gravedale High emblem. It's sister wing, now reduced to a stump, was never recovered after the accident that destroyed his athletic career.

"Help me out wouldja?."

After that fateful day, the ex-jock's bitter and aggressive disposition worsened, towards students who studied and worked for their passing grades. As a result, Reggie found it difficult to feel sorry for him. "I apologize," the werewolf began, readying himself "but, I'm fairly busy wi-"

"With what? Your stuck-up 'Human' class with those losers?" Gnardo growled, the gravel in his throat churning. He was quick to conceal his temper, knowing he may need it later in their little chat.

The gargoyle knew he was unable to cope without the 'free ride', the athletes in Coach Cadaver's class rode vicariously. Gnardo needed to finesse his request to support his system, without effort on his own part.

Not giving Reggie the chance to turn and walk away (or run), he slowly stalked around the teen, closing the perimeter between them, hoping to drive him into the same corner he had been in.

"C'mon it's like a twelve, fifteen page paper on Giant Squid attacks. Piece of cake for _you_." he offered kindly, forcing a lopsided, lazed smile.

Unfortunately, this was not enough to sway and flatter the werewolf. The word 'you' had only lined Reggie's face with a frown. This look of displeasure and silent disinterest that followed his circling, told the granite-skinned teen he was losing the deal while losing patience.

_I don't need thi-ANSWER me you stupi-_ Several frustrated mantras passed through him at once, bewildered as to why the werewolf wasn't already nodding vigorously. Gnardo was hoping to avoid physical violence to get what he wanted. He didn't like to leave any evidence of aggression, which pathetic nerds like Moonshroud could use against him. He couldn't get away with just a slap on the wrist like in the old days. Not anymore. _I shouldn't have to-_

"I can make it worth your while." he bargained, resorting to formless bribery that he had no intention of honoring. And why should he?

To seal the deal he slung an arm around Reggie's neck, like a friend he knew for years. "You'd have to be stupid to say no." he assured, though the look on his face clearly insisted _If your as smart as everybody thinks, you'll say yes._

Gnardo's hold tightened somewhat, but before he could imagine the scrawny wolf-teen into a headlock, Reggie ducked and pulled away.

"I suppose I must be quite ignorant then." the red-headed lycan said with falsely disappointed sentiments. The voice of self-preservation from within was begging him to flee the scene. Immediately.

However he couldn't seem to stop himself. "After all, what 'intelligent' individual does their own work, on time?" he quipped sarcastically, with a role of the eyes and with a voice that wasn't his own. Reggie came back to reality and realized that the ill-tempered bruiser was furious. He stepped back into the side of the squat, stone-block stairs, pressing between his shoulder-blades.

He could have kicked himself for that last remark. What was he thinking?! Gnardo slowly skulked towards him.

"A helpful tip for your paper though. Unless I'm mistaken the levels of mercu-" Reggie was cut off by the clap of a heavy palm against stone, inches from his ear, while a stony beak hovered inches from his snout.

"You got some nerve on ya, 'n I can respect that but..." the gargoyle whispered with an calm, yet shaken fury. "Enough. Bull." He spoke slowly, drawing closer to prove he wasn't joking and neither of them would leave without a yes.

Reggie struggled to think, but found he could not. The still echoing sound of hand against stone made his thoughts bounce and swirl, as did the terrible stench of Gnardo's breath. He felt something break down within him, as his various boundary lines were strained. What was left amidst the ruins was not fear. Only annoyance and disgust. Reggie didn't flinch or blink as a hot snorted blast moistened the fur on his cheek.

The werewolf then realized, his body at a ninety-degree angle against the wall, he had grown a bit taller in the past year. Which was more than anyone could say about Gnardo, whose frame, though crisp in muscle, was permanently arched over.

"Howzabout you write the damn paper, by _**TOMORROW**_," Gnardo said through a fixed jaw, jabbing a threatening finger into the center of Reggie's chest. "before you make a big mistake."

Reggie glowered down at him from behind his glasses. "Sorry, no." he answered in a pleasant yet unapologetic tone.

There was a beat of silence before Gnardo chuckled softly, tilting his head to the side with a transparent _'well-alright'_ expression. Instantly assuming all defenses had dropped like a coffin into the earth, he lunged both talons around Reggie's wrist, ready to twist it behind the wolf-boy's back until he gave in, or until Gnardo felt anything snap or pop.

Ultimately he forgot Reggie excelled at physics. It took the lycan less than a fifth of a second to calculate the scenario.

_Both hands occupied with no frontal support- far enough distance from a solid surface to build up momentum for impact_**- **His right hand free, he clenched the back of Gnardo's thick head.

_***BAH-THUNK***_

The first rational thought that entered Reggie's mind, as the gargoyle's skullcap slammed into the curved stone wall, was the exact time.

_7:55 am._

The second was detached shock of his willingness to lash back at another living person.

Ignoring Gnardo's crumpled form, and the ringing of the first bell, he turned to go to class. He walked numbly and swiftly, the sounds of students and lockers slamming filling the halls.

**End of Chapter: Bell**

--------

A/N: Please be a love and leave a review dah-ling.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter: Book-Part I

"Half full or half empty?" Max Schneider sang down from above.

Reggie lifted his head, squinting upwards with sudden interest; as if he'd been paying attention to the entirety of his teacher's small talk and the task at hand. However, in a daze, his thoughts darting like a reptile between reality's shore and daydream waters, Reggie didn't quite catch what Max was referring to. Much akin to the past few hours.

"The shelf?" Mr. Schneider added, echoing the confused silence, like a call into a dark basement. He gestured with a knock-on-wood tap, careful to only pull back from the bookcase a slight few inches. Looking down from the dizzy heights, the educator's knees clumsily buckled, and he tightly braced the groaning ladder, with a fearful gulp. The ladder, precariously supporting him roughly seven feet over his student's head, was older than dust's great grand-uncle. "I-I'll need about f-five more books." he managed to squeak from the towering height.

The two had created a system. While Reggie supported the ladder, his teacher scurried up and down it, sliding each paperback text into it's rightful place. Once accomplished, Max would climb down to the safety of the third rung and collect more books from his wolfish student.

Reggie didn't mind missing most of lunch, as well as breakfast. Or skipping lunch altogether for that matter. He couldn't possibly stomach anything. A deep knotted part of the werewolf felt as though he deserved some sort of moral retribution or backlashing karma after the events of that morning. For everything. No matter the circumstances.

After the bell had rung at 7:55, as it always had, he quietly walked toward class as he always did. Like an automaton going through the motions, Reggie fulfilled his promise to Frankentyke and Gill. He stopped by the Casketeria and then to class, junk food in tow. He took little notice of the loud and garish teenage wasteland swirling chaotically around him, or whether or not Gill and Frankentyke had even thanked him at all. Nothing mattered, except compiling what he knew about trade, and forming topics of discussion. He acted as if he didn't even know who Gnardo was.

The second time that morning, since his run through the woods, Reggie felt numbly at peace with the world and himself. Peace was positive, but nonetheless, a state of nothingness. Wordlessly he dropped into his usual seat, weaving his mind into a syncopated pattern of paperwork. All as simple as vanishing.

Inevitably, it wasn't long before the class began to fill and the voices from reality grew, smashing through his absolved state.

"...yeah, pebble-brain probably did it to himself to get out of class."

"Surely it sounds like somethin' the brute would do."

"I know, is that crazy or what?"

"What's up lady-dudes?"

"Ya didn't hear? Gnardo was found knocked-out, _totally_ ass-over-head by the stairwell."

No one looked over as Reggie's pencil merrily rolled off the edge of the table and fell to the floor. Nor did anyone look over when he failed to notice it fall from his own hand.

"Ch-yea right!"

Several seconds following, he picked up the pencil, slowly and discreetly, hiding evidence of it's existence underneath his folded arms. Everyone around him was shouting and laughing, free from worry or concern. Meanwhile, flouncing through Reggie's mind in a stunned aftershock were a series of hypotheses and frantic questions he dared not speak, and trumping those he had gathered on paper.

"Hand to Isis, word's all over the school."

_**What if someone had seen what happened? Someone saw. Someone saw what I did and now-**_

"Whoa man, that's-AWESOME! 's he like..._dead_-dead?"

_**What if he never wakes up!? What would my parents sa- I have to get out of here. They'll check for fingerprints, interview anyone seen with him. Reggie you've got- **_

"Certainleh not! Justah bump on the head is all."

_**I'm no better than him, I- **_**No.**_** It was an accident. It. Was. A. Mistake. I'm not...I can't...**_

"Aww man...after the swirly he gave me last week, he deserves whatever he's got."

_**He deserved...he's going to wake up and tell everyone what happened.**_

Reggie was cast under a trance, behind a blank expression; No one would see or understand the coup d'état raging in his mind's mind. To any onlooker, he was concentrating on his papers and completing his work before class.

Worst of all was not knowing what would happen, or what Gnardo would do. Was he plotting revenge in his unconscious state? Just the thought of the stupid thug, sniveling and feigning pure innocence made the wolf-teen want to unleash a mournful howl.

"_Well, y'know, I was talkin' to Reggie Moonshroud...one of the human-teacher's...yeah, Schneiders...'n I was asking for a little help on my essay. He's really smart and always helping everyone in his class, so I thought I'd ask him for a few pointers. I wasn't forcing him 'r nothin'! Suddenly, out of nowhere, he flips out an' __**BLAM!**_

_N-next thing I knew I w-woke up in the nurse's office...I just...don't know what...what I did...t-to provoke him...does, uh this mean I can take tomorrow off?"_

The urge to howl faded and the justification of a snarl intensified. Reggie didn't dare flinch though.

Falling into a cold anger again, he rewound and scanned this imagined scene in his mind over and over. A slight twitch in the werewolf's cheek and the short flutter of his right eyelid was the only movement his body allowed him.

_**That is not going to happen. **_He knew what had happened. They both did. The _whole_ damn story...that is if Gnardo could remember anything after charging head-first into a wall.

_**...Yes, now **_**thats**_** realistic. He did it to himself. He lunged, and I just dodged. It's his own fault, he can't prove a thing...I was defending myself and anyway, no one will believe him otherwise.**_ And besides, that worthless lummox would _never _be stupid enough to tell _anyone,_ that a meek, book-worm, whelp, such as Reggie, bashed the ex-jock's head into a wall hard enough to render him unconscious.

_**Let alone stoop as low as to pretend to cry. His ego won't allow it. **_

_-clack-cli-clack-cli-clack-_

The skittering of Reggie's pencil, threatening to roll off the quivering desk and into his lap, brought him back to his senses.

He was startled by this calculating fury, which fit warm and snug as a glove moments ago, and the lack of humility that came from shadowy places within. The werewolf relieved himself of a sad and quiet sigh. Reggie just hoped the fierce and mean smile, he'd internalized moments ago, hadn't slunk into existence.

That wasn't him. The hot-ice burning in Reggie's chest melted away, as he looked on the dozens of words he regretfully hadn't put any thought or spirit into.

"It was an accident."

"What was Reg?"

He hadn't realized he was mumbling out-loud, nor did he notice Vinnie slip through the door, and hover over him. To be accurate, he _hung_ over Reggie, upside-down from the ceiling, like a bat in a cave.

"The industrial accidents within the past twenty years," Reggie answered without missing a beat, barely looking up from the strewn papers. He pretended Vinnie's pale white face and black-blood eyes weren't fixed on him. "They've allowed collaborations between mutant companies and businesses to flourish."

The sour truth: Reggie wasn't even close to being as preoccupied with his notes as much as he let on.

The lycan was silently horrified by the undulating calmness and certainty in his tone. As if he'd actually believed his own little fib. _**Reggie, you are a rotten lying sycophant.**_

And before he could stop himself, as if sealing an honest pact, the werewolf looked up, locking eyes with the vamp youth. A humored yet exhausted smile seized Reggie's features, purposefully twinkling with hidden conceit.

Falsehood and insincerity, both beyond his control, were left undetected. Not even the slight flinch that Reggie felt below his eye was sighted. All that was readable was an expression that said _"Ah, yes, behold, I'm so stressed, yet so full of wit and humility." _

He felt disgusted and scared of himself.

"Looks like you got _Frankentyke's_ work cut out for you." Vinnie said, loudly enunciating the short monster's name as a summoner would. Called to attention and jumping to the challenge, Frankentyke hopped onto the closest nearby desk, which had unfortunately belonged to Sid.

"Hey! We didn't put any silver guns to his head 'n _force _him to do **anything!**" the re-animated monster contended with the stamp of his dirt crusted sneaker. This greatly annoyed Sid, who was ready to swat at Frankentyke like pesky mosquito.

_**Force.**_

The word plucked a chord within Reggie, triggering him to tighten the grasp on his folded arms with a piercing clutch. The fearful expression was again forced into hiding. He wanted to slip between the sheets of lined notepaper, far from any gaze he could've sworn had fallen on him. With or without voice or sound, he concluded that_ that_ word in particular had haunted his mind and soul all morning. It pursued Reggie even now, floating through space and traveling through his ears.

Before he could so much as cringe, the werewolf subtly retracted his claws from his own fur and flesh, the pencil still hidden beneath his oddly lax arms.

_**Please. Just let this end. **_His mind begged as Frankentyke spewed threats to heights he could not reach, while Vinnie was just beside himself with condescending snorts of laughter.

"Just mind yer own business bat-dweeb 'r I'll come up there an-"

"Ohhh-kaaaay!"

The shout came from Max Schneider, reminding his students of his sovereignty as their educator, and the lesson plan that lay before them. "Vinnie! Frankentyke! You guys can _'hang'_ out later. Till then, lets sit and begin shall we?"

Without complaint or agreement, the monstrous students found their seats. Sid growled to Frankentyke sourly "You've come to the wrong place, if yoh lookin' foh a nappy changin'.", testing out his awkward scullery maid's accent. Frankentyke, immune to embarrassment, or the consideration of others, slid down from the invisible teen's desk and stomped off to find his own.

In one shadowy swoop, Vinnie was seated in his usual spot behind Reggie, no more than a ribbon of invisible energy brushing past the lycan's shoulder. A chill rushed past, as the vampire uplifted a slight breeze whenever he teleported to a nearby place. And in less than a third of a second, Vinnie was whole again.

"Mr. Schneider," Cleo called out, with a slight wave of her bandaged hand in the air, bangles tinkling softly against her wrist. "I lost the booklet on the Satirical poems that we looked at last week." Reggie cringed, as the bracelets from across the room clanged like the school's bell-tower. He took a deep breath, flattening his palms on his desk. The very tips of his clawed fingers curled over the edge of the flat surface.

"I'll find you an extra copy by the end of the day." Max assured the Mummified-Miss. "But, today, we'll be looking at the progression of literature...Europe at the ti...

the auth...

Bourgeois and separation of cla...

expressionist...the self...

The teacher's lecture faded all too soon, melting into a pooling mirage miles away. Even as Max passed around the budget-friendly paperback texts, Reggie's preoccupied and deafened thoughts were elsewhere.

He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to be in class and that sickened him. The subject was fascinating (a college level temptress even), yet Reggie couldn't muster the driving force that served as the template of his academic pursuits.

The werewolf looked onto the book's cover, trying to be spun in, with little success; _"The Frightful New World: Tales by Kafka and other Modernists"._ The text was milk-white, wobbly, with a film-noir shadow, stretched against a dark black-blue alleyway. _**The editor is trying too hard. **_

He wanted to be _there_. Ignoring rationale, he pined on being transported into that world.

The solid brick scraping against wet palms, skinned and aching. His throbbing uncovered feet drowned in luke-warm puddles, shining phosphorescently with a dribbling reliable gleam. Reggie didn't bother with scenario or reason, but warmed to the sensation of raw power and isolation in this phantasm world.

And though everything was wet and soaking, there was not a drop of rainwater to be found. Only a color, more vibrant, more frenzied than the lonely fade of blue, forced itself on this world.

"Reggie...Reggie?"

For the first several seconds, he didn't look up with recognition at Max's voice, or the growing numbers of coupled eyes on him. Only until Vinnie, seated behind him, reached over his shoulder and turned him to the correct page.

"Oh! I-...'msorry." Reggie quietly and quickly apologized, clearing his throat to begin the reading:

"Gregor, in contrast, had become much calmer. So they couldn't understand his words any more, although they seemed clear enough to him, clearer than before - perhaps his ears had become used to the sound. They had realized, though, that there was something wrong with him, and were ready to help. The first response to his situation had been confident and wise, and that made him feel..."

Reggie continued, speaking openly and clearly, as if reciting a memorized line from a play or a sonnet. He didn't spare a single word, till Max signaled with a nod that he was through.

Vinnie followed with the next page, his voice trickling warmly through Reggie. Though the werewolf had managed to hold fast to word or two, as the reading filtered right through him. Try as he did, weeds had entangled Reggie from concentrating on the story.

He had a good idea what the work was about, often reading analytical references made to this sad and lonesome story, which the author had poured so much of himself into.

Transformation, exile, dreams and a giant cockroach.

By not exercising enough thought on the plot, characters and symbolism, Reggie felt as though he had savagely rent apart all of European literature, page by page.

Escaping the weeds and words, the wolf-teen looked to the windowsill, searching for repentance. Everything that existed past the thick glass, as well as everything around Reggie was dimming. If he could just train his mind to turn away from certain amplified noises and smells of the world then he'd...he would...

Vinnie's one or two remaining words shifted comfortably within Reggie. Even though someone else had begun reading sentences, perhaps even pages ago, long after the vampire finished. Reggie couldn't see it, but could imagine Vinnie's expression as he read aloud. Empathetic brows knitting, eyelids lowering respectively for the tale of a tragic hero. Embracing sympathetic throngs of pain, for a son discarded by a selfish family dynamic and rejected by an even crueler society.

Any teenager could sympathize with such a burdened lot in life.

Reggie heard Vinnie shift from behind him and lean forward. The werewolf braced. Not because the vamp was close enough to take a bite of his soft and furry neck, but because Reggie's stream of consciousness had drifted along thoughts of him. He prayed Vinnie hadn't discovered the ability to read minds.

"Reg, you okay?" Vinnie softly asked below a whisper. Again, without looking, Reggie imagined the movement of the vampire's pallid lips, gently prodded by gleaming fangs as he spoke.

Reggie turned to nod for the sake of moving, but found his neck straining. He saw he had subconsciously pulled his feet up onto the chair and was squatting in a fetal position. Rear barely planted on the seat below, Reggie's arms had tucked into the space between his bent knees, while his claws dug into the granite seat, creating tiny trenches.

Before anyone besides Vinnie could notice, he brought his feet to the floor, hands plastered around the ignored book. Reggie could feel grains of clustered stone pushing beneath his nails. Though mortified, a small sliver of him was pleased, without explaining to the rest of his mind why.

"Yoo-hoo, Reggie?" Max called out to his lycan student cautiously, ever avoiding any patronizing or over critical tones. "From the top, second paragraph, if you'd please?"

Reggie sucked in a mouthful of air between his teeth. "Excuse me, but...er-whatpageareweonagain?" he asked in a way that appeared to cause him great pain when spoken.

Three more momentary lapses of concentration on Reggie's part followed that morning. He knew it was no coincidence that Mr. Schneider had requested his help in putting away textbooks after class.

-

If talking to teenagers was a competitive sport, Max Schneider would be an Olympic pro by now. If it was a war, he'd be the unquestioned conquering emperor. The man was a master strategist at getting his students to open up and reach back to him, no matter what was amiss.

Each of his students required a different approach. And every dilemma, from the great spectrum of teenage issues, called for unique stratagem, whether new or the oldest trick in the book.

**This **perceptive student, however, happened to know all too well, just as much as the teacher, why it was they were laboring with dozens of textbooks. Yet Reggie did not unveil the ruse. He respected Mr. Schneider far too much to trample the human's good intentions.

"I-I'll need about five more books." Max stammered, millimeters from plummeting. The ladder he stood on had indeed seen better centuries.

By the time the two had shelved half the stack of books, Reggie knew the topic would teeter and topple over him at any given moment. Either that or his teacher would.

Sure enough, as Mr. Schneider eased down the ladder, he eased into their heart-to-heart chat.

"So Reg," began Max.

_**Ah, and there it is...**_thought Reggie, trying to generate an artificial glimmer of obliviousness in his eyes.

"You looked sort of unhappy in class this morning," said the teacher thoughtfully. Reggie felt humbled then, and stabbed by shame to boot, from the innocence gestured in the comment. _**Damn that man was good. **_

It was true though. Reggie hadn't given himself any time to consider how he felt, deep down at his very core. _**Melancholic? Depressed? Aloof, maybe...pitiful. **_

"Anything on your mind?"

Reggie didn't take much time in his response. "I apologize Mr. Schneider. I was just preoccupied with my thoughts." the lycan claimed, handing the books he'd gathered to the teacher.

"Are you sure Reg? You didn't exactly look as though you were daydreaming in water colors." Mr. Schneider said sagaciously. Though his expression was that of a worried and uncertain glance, as he and the books turned back to the towering shelf. "If something is bothering you, you're more than welcome to tell me."

Reggie turned to the remaining books below, searching the cover and alleyway for both guidance and permission.

_**Okay.**_

The werewolf decided to just accept the opportunity and speak. What harm could it do? Optimism peeking, Reggie deduced he'd certainly feel better and improve his academic performance after opening up to someone about the days confusion.

"Anyway, I don't exactly go off and gossip with the other teachers," Max reassured, peeking down once before hoisting his chin up over the final rung. "Cross my heart and hope to di-ah-errmm, I mean...I promise." The educator had learned in his time as a teacher at Gravedale High, to _never _say anything that could be taken literally.

Pausing, Reggie gnawed once on his already well chewed lower-lip. "Well sir," he said slowly and carefully, addressing the teacher with a title no one had heard come from the werewolf in a very long time. "Have you ever woken up one day and felt completely...off? Not yourself?"

"Ah yes, the dreaded Week-Endis Impendingitis," Max diagnosed as he jumbled down to floor level, nearly losing his footing along the way. "A close cousin of the common _Mondays,_ if I'm not mistaken."

"I don't belie-that's...not _entirely_..." Reggie struggled, trying to interpret his thoughts. "...what I mean is...different...as in...sort of realizing how ones body can ..._be_-or is capable of existing without ones logic guiding it." he continued, not thinking through his own description, but rather grasping at it blindly. _**If that's all, why am I wasting his time?**_

Mr. Schneider rubbed his chin, as if gathering power, looking hard into what Reggie was trying to say. He was then struck with a bashful idea of what his student _may _have been referring to.

-Only what any other teenage boy, monster or human, would undoubtedly have on his mind. What hesitant boys like Reggie wouldn't willingly discuss.

"Well, Reggie-ahem...hmmm...certain 'urges' are perfectly natu-"

"_N-no_! Forgive me, but **no**." Reggie interrupted, hands up front and waving in defensive rapid blurs. They were quick to cut Max off before he could embark on the horrendously awkward 'talk' of talks.

Reggie's parents had already given him a full understanding of what to expect during the next stage of adolescence at the tender age of twelve. In excruciating detail...using charts and slide-shows.

"I'm very certain _that _isn't troubling me today." the wolf-teen claimed, insisting his problems were not rooted to ANY delicious sexual frustration. _**Though it's not far off. According to Freud, is it ever? Delicious?**_ "No, I-"

Reggie wondered if this inner voice belonged to him, taunting and cutting him down to size, or if these critiques were the calling cards of a mental breakdown. He sought his answer by pinching the bridge of his canid nose.

"As you can see, it's difficult to describe..." the werewolf sighed admitting defeat, his hands dead at his sides. "I just...feel a terrible change approaching and I'm sure I'm losing myself..."

Max just chuckled, as if the philosophical concept of self miscarriage were absurd. He hoped a carefree laugh would help defuse the werewolf's fretful state.

"Reg," Max said, casually leaning back against the ladder's horizontal steps, "I really think you're over analyzing yourself. I'm not gonna lie to you and tell you I know exactly what's going on in your head and toss you some band-aid solution, because there is none. But I can relate to what your feeling. Confronting change is overwhelming, as much as it is amazing and inspiring."

Though not fully convinced, Reggie didn't interrupt, as he felt his mood improving from his teacher's advice.

"You, your friends, everybody in Gravedale are not just growing up, but taking the same steps of identifying the self. I don't think anyone every truly loses themselves, but are constantly changin-"

_**-CLAP!CRACK!CRASH!-**_

Thunder burst impatiently from outside, on the teacher's final word. It attacked the school in a rage. A flash of lightning flew past, cracking the sky in two like an egg. Finally rain followed in a mercifully light pitter-patter, sprinkling like sand. Reggie felt as though the loud jolts outside were meant for him. He felt its echo wind through his very backbone. The shiver then nestled into his head and blossomed into a terrible ache.

Max caught sight of the werewolf's ears bending with an uncomfortable flinch. It reminded the teacher of his childhood dog, who always managed to squeeze herself beneath the sofa during a storm.

Reggie saw his educator take notice of his wincing and humored the man with a nervous laugh. "Huh, I don't suppose I could blame my apathy on the weather?" he inquired wittily, rubbing the back of his neck. Reggie was careful, nonetheless, not to graze the source of throbbing pain. _**Crisis averted. **_

Mr. Schneider returned the laugh with an infamous chuckle. "Blame away." he said, waving a dismissive hand. The teacher looked out the window in mock-torment. "Ugh and me without my umbrella. Well, hopefully the sky will clear by tomorrow night. Those clouds would easily prevent anyone from seeing the Harvest Moon."

Reggie suddenly felt the floor crumble from below, though he remained stock still.

"...what?" asked the lycan, an excuse to release a sound, _any sound_, rather than come to an understanding.

He already had something of an understanding.

Mr. Schneider gave his student a look of surprise, "Don't tell me you didn't know? Everyone tells me it's a tradition at Gravedale...or at least whenever Mistress Crone decides to front the money, and the event doesn't end up on the chopping block." he said, scanning the falling rain again for his memory. "Well, anyway, there's supposed be a huge festival tomorrow evening with a perfect view the moon. Hey, come to think of it, this fair sounds like just the thing yo-"

"**Pleaseexcuseme**-I have to go!" Reggie unexpectedly cried out. Max spun around to see that the wolf-teen was already one foot out the door, trapped out of courtesy, but fidgeting with the urge to flee. "I apologize, but there's something I just-I have to attend to-THANK YOU!" he shouted before dashing into the dark hall. Before Max could think of how to respond, Reggie was long gone.

The teacher was left scratching his scalp in confusion. "What's got into him...ah, teenagers." Mr. Schneider huffed, unceremoniously concluding their session with a confounded shrug. Plucking the last three books from the pile, he climbed back up the ladder, his duty fulfilled. At least, he hoped, to the nearest extent.

--

"'_Even those who are pure of heart, and say their prayers at night, can become a wolf, when the wolfsbane blooms and the autumn moon is_...ugh, tell me something I don't know," Reggie chided the open book before him. Disheartened he shoved the thing into the far corner of the library's reading cubicle. It slumped against the other rejected texts, like the ruins of ancient Greece. Each containing nothing that Reggie didn't already know.

-History of the Traditional Lycanthrope Pack

-Whose Afraid of Negative Representation: _A look at Demonized Wolves in Literature and Fairy-Tales_

-The Werewolf Slave Revolution of the 13th century

The most recent addition to the pile, Monster Misinterpretations and Misunderstandings illuminated social problems between monsters and humans. Yet the book only listed complaints, rather than theorizing solutions. Informative, fascinating, but overall unhelpful.

At least Reggie knew where to _not _search for information on the Moon.

_**Fifteen minutes till lunch is over.**_

Ignoring his stomach's whines for attention, while he skimmed the outdated books, Reggie was driven by the thought of suffering impatiently during class, between one o'clock and 2:30. Nonetheless, he felt like he was going to pass out.

_**Unbelievable. **_he thought bitterly. It were as though every esoteric aspect of the planet was available to the wolf-teen, other than what he needed most urgently. What seemed even more astounding to Reggie was the realization that, as smart he was, he had only gathered _'enough' _information about himself during his lifetime. Once his curiosity was satisfied, he always moved onto to the next intellectual conquest. He always dug deep into the unknown, but never into himself.

"The _autumn _moon...bright...well that's slightly...useful?" pondered Reggie aloud, squeezing the phrase into his notepad. The poor paper was so overwhelmed by quotes, dates, chronological calculations, and recorded phases of the moon in the past 20 years, that the pen-marks had begun to rip and bleed through to the other side.

To anyone else, monster or not, collecting books and cataloguing notes in such a short amount of time seemed an impossible task. However the werewolf had always occupied much of his time doing just that. Researching and reading.

And according to the tea-stained astrological charts, presently ignored and compressed in the wolf-teen's lap like grand Japanese fans, the hemisphere they dwelt in was indeed due for a full Harvest Moon tomorrow night. It's presence was unusually late, as the moon was most common mid-to-late September. However, every couple of years, the moon wore this great and terrible mask in October.

_**Rrrrrrrip***_

The notes, balled into a messy sphere, were tossed into a nearby wastebasket. Reggie didn't mind disposing of the information that he had fully absorbed. Scrap copy gone, he begun anew, collecting his thoughts on a clean sheet of paper and taking a different approach:

Side effects I've encountered thus far, the day before the 

night of the full 'October' Harvest Moon:- Sensitive hearing,

an altered sense of smell, rising and falling adrenaline, irregular

heart-rate, lack of focus, sexua-

Before he could finish jotting down that last ailment, he felt awkward, and drew a line through the word. _**Oh god, what if someone were to come across this and recognize my handwriting.**_

Discontent with just a single line cleaving the unfinished word in two, Reggie scribbled it out entirely, till an amorphous black splotch remained. The word still lingered, burning though the shadow of ink. Then, everything he'd written transformed into a humiliating decree to the world that there was something terribly wrong with him. In fact-

_**Rrrrrrrip**_*

Words lost forever to the trash, Reggie began without regret on the next paper:

I can't grasp why-

The words were crossed out seconds after they came into existence. He tried again:

The full moon has alwa-

_**Rrrrrrrip***_

And yet another frustrated paper ball bounced into the garbage. Wasting and destroying perfectly good paper was becoming an addictive relief for stress.

Reggie couldn't bring himself to ask, nor did he know how to answer his question:_ What the hell was happening to him this PARTICULAR full moon? Why is October so important? Was he the only werewolf experiencing this, or was he going insane? _Why now?

He knew the moon always had the same jovial effects on him. To werewolves, the full moon was a time of celebration. The urge to howl and be outside, the craving of succulent dripping raw meat...

Also, a couple of summers ago, Reggie had even discovered the thrill young werewolves might find in pleasuring themselves during these illuminated evenings. Well, at least for the werewolves who didn't have a partner within reach.

There was nothing ever perverse or ritualistic about Reggie's private moments to himself, though he wouldn't dream of letting anyone know about them. The lycan embraced and enjoyed the stratum of sensations no one could ever describe or detect.

All perfectly natural. Then again nature itself was unnaturally unpredictable.

Leaning back in the stiff wooden chair, he huffed a groan at the ceiling. If any more forceful and stressed, the roof would have unhinged and toppled away.

Reggie's senses had never before made him want to gouge his eyes from his head.

He was no different than any other werewolf. The past full moons had always been kind to him with every changing season, ever since he was a kid. Reggie's hearing was often heightened to such a degree, that he was able to predict where someone would step before their foot could so much as lift from the ground.

Now Reggie had to force himself from concentrating on the squeaks and lurches of bone and muscle in passers-by.

Just yesterday, everything and everyone had been dappled gingerly with the uncanny scents of food, perfumes, colognes and whatever environments they had dwelt in. All marked with familiar and unique undertones.

Today, fragrance had turned to stench. Not horrible, but rather invasive and aggressive. The essence of everything had bleed together, clawing at Reggie's nose and brain. The werewolf wondered if his last moment would be followed by choking or drowning.

He pulled himself upright and rolled the moon charts into paper telescopes, each of the aged diagrams fitted with a rubber-band. Clearing his reading space, Reggie heaved his last and final hope out from under his seat. A huge Encyclopedia of the monster world, unmarred and pristine in condition. Of course, like the books from the past few decades, it included the often misconstrued human views.

He thumbed through the index, scanning for the Werewolf section. Turning the pages to the chapter, Reggie hoped for anything of value or interest at this point. Of course, since the human perspectives were included, a majority of the book's contents promised to be based on laughable misconceptions. And he was right:

"_Ingredients of a Medieval ointment used by humans to cure or subdue lycanthropy: soot, bat's blood, fat carved from an un-baptized human baby_... who in their right min-ugh that's disgusting..._deadly nightshade_, _henbane, mistletoe, hem_- Hemlock? I suppose most people didn't survive these treatments." Reggie assumed as he silently read, still in awe and nausea.

"..._and of course most humans, suspected of the werewolf curse during the middle ages, would either die from treatments and failed exorcisms, or would be executed for involvement in what was presumed to be witchcraft..._what a surprise."

Taking several corners of pages between his fingers, Reggie let them flutter carelessly. A series of archaic sketches, prints and fabulous paintings followed in quick precession. All renderings of lycans of all shapes and forms, by monster and human artists alike, plucked from the past 800 years.

The early human depictions of werewolves were all too similar and uninspired. Beast-like, and snarling fiercely, or rending apart some hapless victim with an abandon. Caging the images were textual lines of narrated morals, and notes of heresy and Devil's work.

In contrast, the artists of the monster world projected early werewolves in a more positive and truthful light, living peacefully amidst a dominated and respected nature. Early packs and colonies melded within their respected wood. High in the trees and low in their burrows and caves. The centuries to follow portrayed _'the forced...__**Theres that word again**__... immersion of lycans into the Monster civilization, just beginning to gather outside the ancient wood'_ as the author described. The art immediately preceding the slave revolutions had been somewhat romanticized, chains clashing and claws raised high. However social progression, rooted heritage and truth, were always a present theme.

Again it was inspiring, yet useless to his search.

Tugging at one final page before calling it quits, he found it.

**Werewolves and The Moon**

Beneath the title was a lone sketch, too old, mundane and unprofessional to be traced. Well-dressed, Aristocratic werewolves stood in the foreground before a forest, each basking in their own column of moonlight. Each waiting for something to happen.

Reggie was compelled to let his eyes search the thick and charcoal lines.

The beams of light fell from a full moon. It hung like a mobile above the center of the wooded clearing, presently withered from what Reggie assumed was autumn's arrival. The artist, out of his or her own imagination and kindness, had even granted the moon a face. It's chubby features dimpled and swollen from a lip-breaking grin.

Unlike the clerical-esq and regal front, marked by civility and grace, the background was blatantly opposite. It made Reggie almost rethink the accuracy of the human perspective.

Every lycan figure away from the foreground was a whirlwind of pandemonium. Two wild haired she-wolves lustily pounced a satisfied male, one ripping it's claws down his chest, as he slumped in lazy pleasure. Another, huddled in a corner to himself, tearing at the clothes and fur that seemed to trap his euphoria. All the while grinning painfully like a Cheshire cat.

Many of the werewolves lashed at invisible enemies in the air, whirling and dancing crazily. Others found enough boldness in themselves to challenge one another, more than happy to snap their jaws and slash at their own kind. The more compassionate or logical of the werewolves were vanishing into the distance, to purge their animalistic ferocity elsewhere. The shame of hurting another or themselves, outweighed the moon's glow.

Between these transitions from civility to madness, an unnoticed figure seemed to be caught mid-stagger between exile and belonging. Reggie was uncertain who or what_'it'_ was, let alone _its_ gender. A patchwork creature of flesh and fur, gallivanting through the brush without purpose or destination. Blank in expression, aimlessly tripping along the forest floor, the wolf-teen wouldn't be surprised if the creature appeared and vanished at the blink of an eye. Just a strange presence and definitely NOT a werewolf.

An excerpt was included below the image, scribbled with uncertainty and faded with age. The artist had either written his own words or dictated the thoughts of another, into the same pages from the very book the sketch was drawn in:

"_Once a Grecian youth named Actaeon was walking through the woods while accompanied by his hunting dogs. He then happened upon the chaste Artemis bathing in a spring. As punishment for laying eyes on the virgin goddess, he was transformed into a stag. However it was the wild Lyssa, goddess of the frenzy, who stirred a rage in the hounds, now unable to discern their master from a deer. The dogs were quick to turn on Actaeon, ripping the cursed man to shreds."_

"_Legend states that Artemis, well shamed by the scandal, assured Lyssa's vow of silence by bequeathing to her a portion of the moon's power._"

Reggie glanced once at the outcast in the picture. He was positive it was the very raving goddess of lunacy that the anonymous writer was referring. Now Reggie felt her eyes lunge at him, just visible below a tangle of hair, fur, filth and a lopsided band crowned atop it all. The lycan looked away from Lyssa's stare, fearful he too would lose his mind and continued reading:

"_The goddess-child of night could cast this influence of the moon over any on earth she chose, whenever she chose. So taken was she by the display of unhindered wildness that she beheld in the hounds, Lyssa's only desire was to rebirth that same freedom in other, more menacing, canines. All at her hands."_

"_However, lesser beasts all to often surrendered willingly to their primal freedoms. The goddess knew the thrill was not long lasting. She recalled the humans, who fled from nature's bosom long ago, yet always struggled against any descent from their glorious humanity. And though they were weak, most men honed all their power into hiding true baseness from one another, swatting at her whispers in their ears. If and when a human did abandon its civility, they wouldn't be stopped by the gods themselves. Resistance created unimaginable power, Lyssa knew."_

"_The raving goddess, in her surreptitious logic, could see Man and Beast were matched; combined, they were the ideal embodiment of the struggle between nature and civilization."_

"_So it is told, Lyssa sought out the werewolves. With affection and greedy delight, she bound the wolf-people and their descendants to the moon. And at its brimming fullest, the moon would beguile and capture the spirit and minds of were-beasts everywhere, wheresoever night crept. Their howls and yearning cries were seduced forth, drawn to the fixed light in the darkness. Many weres believe, by tradition, that it is their baying that truly summons the moon, rather than the moon calling to them." _

"_Neither blessing nor curse, every werewolf is equally touched by the dimmest glow and the slightest pull of the satellite in its dragging orbit. No matter what land or time they might dwell in, the moon's stringing force is inescapable. However, during the rare and extended waits for the occurrence of late moon phases every year, many wolf-folk bear witness to the intense burning of a repressed nature in wanton and fierce flaming tongues. As a ripened pomegranate bursts when left unplucked, to free itself after waiting too long."_

"_During these hours of a full moon, a werewolf in its prime will know the very essence of born senses, strength and vitality, through and through. Yet fated are the were-folk, never to ease or banish the frightening and great tempest that will always reign within them. Binding their true selves, blinding them from their true sight, until the heraldic break of day..." _

The lycan had stopped reading at the last few words, of the second-to-last paragraph. It didn't matter though, as the artists penmanship had become illegible and erratic. Emotions leaked into words, as if he or she too had abandoned all control. Angry and oversized scrawls raked in crooked scratches, lost on their path, swinging and overlaying lines above and below.

Reggie wrapped his arms around his stomach, as it painfully groaned for his absent voice. He lay his head down on the book. Not resting or contemplating, but simply looking at the spattered ink and frayed pages. From his angle he could see rust red stains spotting the yellow excerpt. Only images now, printed into the crisp and flawless book.

(To be continued.)


	3. Chapter 3

_(ARGHH SO FUCKING SHORT!! SO FUCKING LATE!! *Whips self! Whips self good 'n proper!*)_

Chapter: Book Part II

-

After lunch had ended, Mr. Schneider's students returned to class and their respective seats.

Reggie however, had not.

Vinnie's fingertips drummed an impatient tribal beat all on their own. Any other day, he would have gladly ignored the blackboard and Mr. Schneider's mumbo-jumbo without reason. Today however, the rebel felt his lack of attention was not in vain. The vamp could only burn holes with his gaze into Reggie's vacant desk, now scarred and scraped many times over.

A deserted battle-field. It looked almost as bad as Frankentyke's desk, minus the ink carvings of grammatically incorrect anarchic slogans. Just rows upon rows of crisscrossing little scratches, not so little scrapes, and deeply carved trenches. Vinnie could help but cringe, unable to accept Reggie would intentionally deface school property like that.

Some ancient bloodshed had conspired and passed, without his knowing, this much was true. Worst of all, the vamp couldn't help but feel as though he had arrived too late to help his friend. Useless cavalry.

Every other couple of seconds, black-ember irises flicked between the desk and the door. Then the clock, dancing between some metaphoric trinity. Desk. Door. Clock. Desk. Clock. Desk. Door. Clock. Door. Clock. Desk. Desk. Desk.

_Reg..._

His teacher had apparently shared the vamp's concern, staring on at the desk. Pausing his lecture to let his students copy notes from the blackboard, Max met Vinnie's worried glance, both thinking the same exact thing.

_Something's not right. _

Max could only offer a sad shrug. It couldn't be helped. At the very start of the new semester, Headmistress Crone administered a new policy forbidding all hijinks or shenanigans of any sort of comedic nature during class hours. No one had seen Reggie during or after lunch, and they could only sit on their hands and wait till class ended.

However, Vinnie was not a patient monster. Nor a rule-abiding one.

"Yo, Mr. Schneider, may I please use the fah-cil-ities?" Vinnie asked, stressing the excuse from class with the raise of his brows. _'Geez, why did'n I think of this sooner?' _He wondered, making a mental note to smack himself on the forehead later. _'C'mon teach...'_

Max (Thank Vlad) had caught on with a grateful sort of grin.

"Of course Vinnie," the teacher said, permitting the discreet search-and-rescue. "...and thanks." he added as the vamp jumped up and briskly walked out.

As the ancient door creaked to a close behind him, Vinnie could distinctly hear a confused Blanche whisper to JP, "Wah is Mistah Schneidah _thankin'_ him foh goin' to the bathroom?". Vinnie would laugh about that later. At the present time he needed to figure out where his werewolf had hidden himself.

"Okay," the vamp readying himself with motivation. "If I was smart, where-"

His words halted before they could pass his lips, realizing what he'd just mumbled. Vinnie coughed to cover up his own stupidity, and was glad no one was around to hear that.

"Where would Reggie go if he wanted to be alone?"

It hadn't occurred to Vinnie till that moment, that perhaps the werewolf may not have wanted to see or speak to anyone at all. _Oh Reg..._ Out of respect for his friend's wishes, he would have turned around and returned to class.

Would.

Have.

However, the spoiled Prince of Darkness gladly upheld his selfish desire to seek out the absent werewolf, even if it were for his own benefit. He couldn't help it, he was a stone-cold brat, after all, and nice guys like Reggie would always forgive him for it.

And besides, as a monster with a secret love of consistency, the vampire missed staring at the back of Reggie's neck, whenever their teacher was droning about some uninteresting facts the class needed to memorize for some uninteresting test. Or the sound of warm blood pumping steadily through veins in front of him. Breathing life was music to Vinnie's ears.

Above all else, Vinnie missed that infallibly constant presence of his friend, filling the empty space in front of him. To solve this dilemma, he repeated the question to himself. _Where would Reggie go..._

- - -

**Everything moved with the speed and grace of being underwater. Yet the pleading moan that emitted from Reggie's throat was evidence enough, that he was not 50,000 leagues below sea level.**

**In his seated slump, the teen-wolf hummed pleasurably as he felt himself move **(or being moved)**, back and forth, up and down and every which angle imaginable, in long and deep, and quick and short pulls. Push came to shove, as the painful pressure hurtling through him dulled to a hungry ache.** _***Thump-thump-thump***_

**Any intervals, few as they were, between riding each wave, only swirled in his dazed vision. **

**A pair of **hands** suddenly grappled his shoulders, shaking him. Hushed and **familiar** whispers from the world outside, quaked the one within. Reggie only wished those fingers would just get on with it and puncture into his flesh. Pierce him knuckle deep into fur, muscle and blood.** _**Oh Gods–Oh yes, blood!**_ **But those sweet stabbing releases never came.**

"_**Reg**__, Reg...-_Reggie, wake up."

Everything looked different. The library, tilted on it's side, bloomed into existence.

"...Vi..."

He was dreaming, cheekbone plastered and indented against the edge of the book he'd lain his head down on. Reggie almost fainted when he found the weight on his shoulders hadn't left him, assuming those hands had been pulled from the dream to haunt him for his too soon transgression. He tried to jerk away from their grasp, but was softly pulled back into the seat he'd fallen asleep in.

"Wait! Woah, Reggie!-Calm...down," a strong yet softened voice said, coaxing him back to reason. After an agonizing three seconds, the hands lifted and the lycan immediately turned halfway in his seat, to see Vinnie standing behind him.

Though he nor Vinnie had yet to do anything wrong, Reggie suddenly felt compelled to apologize, silently praying he wasn't moaning in his sleep. "I- I'm sorry Vinnie! I...er- "

"Bad dream?" offered the vampire with a humored smile. Reggie shrugged, taking the opportunity to discreetly close and push the encyclopedia from view, gathered and anonymous amongst its forgotten leather-bound brethren. Unsure whether he should agree or not, he instead opted to smile sheepishly, glasses slipping halfway down the bridge of his snout.

Before Vinnie could say anything, that smile suddenly dropped like a lead weight to the floor.

"What time is it?" Reggie asked, despite looking to the clock on the wall himself. Had he not been covered in fur, Vinnie was certain the werewolf would've blanched paler than the vampire himself when he caught sight of the exact time, eyes widening. The vampire could hear him breath a choking gasp over his thunderstorm of heartbeats.

Vinnie didn't relinquish his grip, expecting the werewolf to leap up and explode into a panicked state. Instead, however, Reggie's head suddenly toppled with a moan. Every nerve and muscle was physically drained, despite waking only moments earlier.

"Reg, you okay?" Vinnie asked what he wanted to plead. Almost reluctantly, Reggie lifted his ginger-topped head, rapidly moving his mouth to form speech, though few words surfaced. The heartbeat had slowed to a drowned pace.

"Mhmm...I...I can't believe how late I am..." the werewolf muttered, a slight treble of a laugh in his voice, almost humored by the terrible reality. He peered into his lap, as if it were a reflecting pool and was expecting someone to look back at him. Or perhaps leap to some other world, swallowing him whole, to escape his own, and always avoiding the look of worry behind him.

-Vinnie swore by Vlad, he'd never before seen this crumbling facade and blank doppelgänger in all the years he'd known Reggie. However, despite what the nagging feeling in his chest told him, this was indeed his best friend.

Suddenly feeling invasive, the vamp slid one of his palms to the chair's back support. The dead-wood frame was too hard, too cold from absence of it's sitter's back against it. Denied of Reggie's normal way of sitting, always exuberant and alert, pulled back into his seat, consumed by thoughts Vinnie could never surmount, maybe chewing a pen or pencil, while gazing into the ceiling cracks, like a hapless and stumbling astrologer.

Reggie himself felt as though he were still asleep, so zapped of everything that gave him drive. He'd say he felt like a zombie if it wasn't a politically incorrect comment.

"R-reg, your not lookin' too good," Vinnie said, refusing to budge from his place behind the teen wolf, giving his shoulder a small shake to maybe rouse him back to life. He wasn't leaving without Reggie, pulled back together. Back to normal. _'Talk to me, please.'_

Suddenly the werewolf's head rose, looking up, unfurled like a night-blooming flower, though too dry of saccharine dew. Reggie starting tapped a single pointed-claw in what any careful observer would call deliberation (_'What're you thinking about Reg?'_, Vinnie wondered.). He looked into the nothing, with what seemed to be divine inspiration. Slipping like dribbling ice from the vamp's grasp, he quickly turned to face Vinnie completely, knelt upright and backwards on his seat.

"Hey, maybe, if ya need to lie down, we-"

"Vinnie, lets get out of here."

Somehow the vamp knew Reggie wasn't referring to the library, but Mr. Schneider's class, and all of Gravedale at that.

Surprise and bewilderment tensed around Vinnie's eyes, wrinkling the pore-less skin between his brows. Backing up a step he looked the werewolf over from his distance, scanning for signs of a head injury, or any tell that he wasn't being serious.

But those hazel eyes had strayed, refusing to connect with his, rather pulling off to the side. _'He's not jokin'.'_, Vinnie realized, wondering if he should restrain and force the possibly feverish werewolf to see the school nurse.

"Reg, I-"

"I mean it-it's nearly two o'clock as it is..." the werewolf stumbled through his blind reason, eyes bouncing over a nearby space between the wall and the floor. The vampire could hardly tell if Reggie was still addressing him, his voice creaking at an odd pitch he'd never heard before. But the wolf-teen continued, nevertheless, smiling with a bubbling excitement, that boiled like a spitting, fizzing cauldron "I can- I'll tell Mr. Schneider it was all my idea! I'm always diligent and punctual anyway, he'll go easy on me. I've never taken off, so it's only a fair exchange for all...f-foreverythingI-"

"**SSSSHHHhhhh!!" **

A hiss commanding silence fluttered along with the Banshee Librarian, floating through the stacks and shelves nearby. The ghostly woman rarely spoke over a whisper, let alone past the finger that seemed permanently affixed to her lips, if only to retain the tranquility of the many towers of dust caked books.

Their eyes followed the librarian's wispy form as she disappeared off into the vanishing point. Reggie's glance found Vinnie's, imploring for his reaction. In an instant, the delirious mists hazing his sight fizzled, once he beheld the look of confusion on his friend's face.

'_Oh what in the Hell am I doing!?'_

"N-no...wait..." he said quietly, shaking his head, returning again to earth and semi-mortal coil. The lycan pressed the smooth beds of his crescent moon claws against his forehead, heated with embarrassment but at least empty of past _silly raving delusions of grandeur_, "N-never mind, I...I'm sorry Vinnie, that was...that was very stupid of me to suggest..."

Reggie crawled back into the shelter of his left palm, too tired to care whether or not his face was wholly hidden.

The vampire latched onto his first instinct and moved to fill the empty space he'd left by Reggie's seat; half seating himself on the table, albeit with a slowed and cautious courtesy. Here he could make out a few of the faded titles imprinted against the spines of the books cluttering the corners of the cubical.

"Yea...- I-I mean no! You're not stupid - -_at all_, Reg- - Trust me. I know stupid, and you ain't even pitched a single hit in dat league!" Vinnie chuckled, vainly hoping he could shake the smallest fraction of a laugh from Reggie. No such luck. "It's just...yeah, we probably shouldn't go 'n give Cronzie a reason to butcher poor Schneider..." he trailed off, letting the were laugh softly at the image of the Headmistress pursuing their teacher with a flail.

The vampire was however at an impasse, having a very difficult time trying to ignore every protesting and justified temptation, loudly pleading he just seize the opportunity and whisk the hard working and clearly stressed werewolf off to the movies or the mall._ Hell, he'd even go to a museum, if it meant Reggie was relaxed, stress free and happy again...or for once. _

...but still...

Cutting school?...No, that wasn't Reggie's style. That wasn't him at all.

-Reggie Moonshroud, who kept a filing cabinet of his own highlighted faults under a hot incubating lamp in his brain. As much as Vinnie did want to encourage a sense of adventure and freedom in his friend, he knew he'd just end up bemoaning the decision to play hookey. Also from the very moment he'd first suggested the two actually ditch, a strange metronome of calmness overtook the lycan's pulse, which perturbed Vinnie down to his marrow.

_That wasn't him at all. _

"But 'ey," the vampire murmured with the most exclusive secrecy, nudging Reggie teasingly, "You an' me'll save cutting class for our senior year. How 'bout it, eh?" He gently elbowed him once more, a little jostle to make certain the werewolf was smiling.

"I suppose that way we'll have time to formulate a successful escape plan?" Reggie said, face unveiled, with the usual small smile and 'beyond-college-level' roll of the eyes.

With that, certain the rightful order had been restored, the pallid youth slung a leather-plush arm around the lycan's thin shoulders, unable to help himself from patting the soft arm-fur his palm landed against.

"Cool!...erm..." he trailed off, suspended in uncertainty as he aided Reggie off his perch and to his feet. "What were you, eh...up to anyways?"

Reggie slowed to a halt before he could even take his first step forward, vision practically tunneled at the other teen's simple words. Simple, innocent, virginal white, surrounded by flowers.

-That kind of simple; yet the question struck like a flaming arrow. An optimistic light at the end. He wanted to expose the truth of his dilemma, even if it still remained in raw and complicated knots.

The garbage pail, sheltered behind the desk, overflowing with the accumulated paperball spores Reggie had formed, suddenly came to mind.

_Gods, why couldn't he have urged the contents of his core to spill out during his session with Mr. Schneider? Why now di- _

"Reg?" Vinnie's question and presence had nearly slipped his mind again.

"Sorry I was...you see, what I..." Reggie caught up with the earth's rotation, spacing himself politely from the vamp as they made their way towards the heavy black-oak doors. _'Here goes nothing._' "I could really use someone to talk to, actually...if you're not too busy later."

The vamp, almost insulted his friend would actually think he hadn't any time to spare for him, threw Reggie a theatrical and incredulous look, a humored eyebrow arched high, "Aww c'mon Reg, you _know_ I got nothin' better to do, an-"

His carefree words died, suddenly null in his mouth, when his glance found Reggie's expression. The teen had somehow managed to make himself so much smaller and older than what normally suited him, eyes dragged down, so filled with striking concern, and pulled away with such distance, that Vinnie swore they'd leap from their sockets and slip away from him forever.

"...that bad huh?" Reggie nodded once.

Vinnie may have been self-centered, but that didn't mean he was heartless (Metaphorically speaking, of course) and uncaring. So he played his part, grinning and cool, giving his friend an confident smack on his back. He always did this out of habit, as if to assure Reggie no situation was THAT horrible.

"Alright Reg, your on! Later it is then." He said, emphasizing his phoenix-rise revival, from solemn to content, by kicking open the double-doors, barely wincing as the white light of the rainy day grazed his flesh (Ignoring the Librarian's hiss to silence the departing students she was so thankful to be rid of.). Palm still splayed between Reggie's shoulders, Vinnie ushered him out of the tomb that was the Library. "For now, let's head back to the ole torture chamber, neh? Schneider's goin' crazy without you there, dispensin' all the answers."

'_Egads, don't I wish that were true.'_ mused the werewolf, trying to smile, but fearful that they might pass the stairwell on the way back to class. He didn't want Vinnie to find out about what happened that morning.

The least Reggie could do was summon the courage, man up, and eventually tell him himself.

(To be continued.)

*~*~*~*

(Well originally this chapter was supposed to be much longer, but that part isn't done yet, and I've already forced all my kind, good and benevolent readers to wait so long. I've decided to shorten the next few chapters, just so long as I'm updating faster. But as repentance for this short monstrosity, and the length of time I took in crafting it, I will punch myself in the face repeatedly with a fist full of dull butter knives. _Tally-ho!_)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter: Book Part III

Slips of pages flipped past and the scratching of pens effectively became blurs; charred nothings swept into the vortex of the winding clock that all too prematurely aged to 3. Reggie's nerves, by then, by now, had finally given way, no more than a bundle of cobwebs in the wake of a thorough cleaning.

He was spotlessly serene. And yet, though free of all stresses, even able to manage some fabrication of a "genuinely" -**liar**- embarrassed apology to Mr. Schneider (who was up to his elbows in complaints voiced by Cleo and Duzer based on the sexist content of the radio program Frankentyke had planned to air that evening) as he took his leave -**get out**-, he was nonetheless bare without the familiar dusty tufts and clouds of thought flouncing busily through his mind's comfortably unpolished -**prison**- chambers.

All of him was there, but none behind the wheel, so to speak.

The velocity of rushed movements, noises and the very acrid stench of his peers were nothing but flickering shades of memory that danced around Reggie. Even that hideous blot of a stairwell, which he'd, again, found himself going past -**run**-, was nothing more than a picture on a flattened canvas...or more appropriately, shapes on a computer screen.

-**run**-

Nearly six times before he had even reached his locker, words reeking of "Gnardo", "knocked out" or "that psycho from Cadaver's class got his ass kicked" drifted past, ranging from shifty whispers to bellowing hoots, without the slightest static zap of a reaction from him.

At least on autopilot, the were-teen blandly reasoned, he needn't be concerned with any sort of scene-of-the-crime, "Crime & Punishment-esque" sense of dread. All one less worry to liberate himself of, -**stop it**- in the stretching -**youhaven'tgottenawaywithanythingyet!**- space of time between here -**you can't escape**- and the wet -**stopitstopitstopit**- and bright world outside.

-...**get** **away**...-

Vinnie appeared. He grabbed ahold of Reggie as reality's greater tides began dragging him back to shore, easing and ushering the nodding, sighing, smirking -**always agreeable, aren't you...always**- lycan to the back exit of this great beast of a school's belly, as the bounty of students were expelled out the front.

"...ankentyke 'n Gill's show is gonna be just as much of a _huh-larious_ blood bath as always, with or without your notes. Y'know those two. They're probably not even gonna..."

Speaking with caution and care, the vampire held tight rein of their one-sided conversation. -**As if he could possibly understand**-

And, all at once, Reggie's mind and mind's voice returned, born like a white-hot blazing phoenix with a burst of cold, free-flowing breeze and the squealing bang of the door behind them.

_I'm finally outside_ was the first and only thought he'd assembled in far too long a span of time. The second -seemingly more vital, though nonetheless secondary- thought that occurred to him was on the fate of his papers and school books, the whereabouts of which he couldn't remember, for the death of him.

"...tough doin' both at once so..."

He didn't give an iota of a damn. His strongest efforts towards reasonable, rational, logical notions were diluted at best, such recollections toothlessly chewed at for the barest sliver of a second and eventually disregarded as quickly as it had come.

"...the paint, and rotated the wheels...

-...**turning and turning and changing and turning**...-

All at once, Reggie had never been so happy to breathe fresh, clean air. _Finally_ he inhaled, filling his every nerve and cell to the brim with oxygen. It was all so incredible, intoxicating even, facing away from the fading sun in this brisk and perfect plain, and far from the tight catacombs and grottos from which he'd emerged.

"...at least my engine wasn't the one that blew up, right...Reg?"

He was finally solid within his own form. More now than ever before, he was wonderfully free and in complete control.

-...**release me**...-

"Yo' Reg?"

**Dominant** even. From the core of his being, up to the fringe of his ears, circuiting right down to the soles of his fee-

"Reggie!"

"**Wh**at!" Reggie started gracelessly, the terrible pitch that heighten in his throat just a mere decibel below that of a bark. In actuality, it had borne more likeness to a pained cry than a response, but nevertheless sounded a lot less worse than it initially sounded to the wolf teen, more surprised than fierce or irritable. Unable to will himself to look up to inspect the other monster's reaction to his embarrassing outburst, he reluctantly let the hyper-sensations, which he feared he might begin to enjoy, shiver back into the dark corner from which they'd emerged.

"You okay?" was all Vinnie seemed to be able to come up with.

"S-sorry Vinnie. I think I'm too hungry for rational speech or thought." Reggie huffed, adjusting his glasses as a show of his exhaustion. He didn't bother faking even the thinnest scratch of a smile, not certain just how his sanity would be judged at this point.

-...**weeping, weaving and deceit**...-

The group of solid thumps he felt delivered to his back were at ease though, stirring the already awkwardly placid laugh, chugging circles through his chest, into something of a ruptured, rusty cough.

"Stomach and brain finally dukin' it out, eh?" Vinnie said, his amusement more like airy chimes and sighing pipes at an amusement park. "C'mon lets get you some eats before your GPA starts a-slippin'."

Lucy sat waiting for her 'Mister' in her usual spot, with her usual air extravagance.

-With all the demure modesty of a Rococo painting, at that, glamorously lazing in a single (curiously serendipitous) golden stream of light, gushing through the breaking clouds above.

"I'm sure you've met my lovely assistant, haven't-cha?" Vinnie declared in a venerable tone, punctuating the introduction with a stately whirl of his hand, breaking the blinding shafts of light gleaming off of his bike's immaculate finish.

Reggie was greatly puzzled at how Vinnie's eyesight had managed to survive this long, constantly exposed to Lucy's sun-catching finish, and his eyeballs hadn't already burst like over ripened grapes in their sockets.

As both monsters drew closer, Reggie also wondered at how he might have been intimidated by that smoky raven mounted on Vinnie's "wheels," were it not for the fine coat of moisture, bleeding in great drops from its wings, or the insect degradingly crushed against its forehead; a gruesomely winged and multi-legged diadem.

"Hello Madame...ermm, Vinnie's Motorcycle?" he waved dumbly. He wondered if he ought to pat it on the head or shake one of it's side mirrors and continue to make a complete idiot of himself.

"Hmm..." Vinnie (not-so contemplatively and more-so playfully) hummed, rubbing his chin and breaking the momentary staring contest Lucy had cast over Reggie, slipping deftly between the beast and bird staring deeply into one another. "I think she likes ya Reg." the vamp said after two patient beats, jerking a thumb in the direction of his bike. His visual periphery suddenly caught wind of that ill-fated bug, that so greatly marred the dignity of the raven statuette, in perfectly sheepish line with his crooked digit, no less. Not wasting another beat, Vinnie wet the same thumb on his tongue and immediately worked to rub away the offending carcass.

"Ah, well...Vinnie..." the werewolf sighed, perplexed that his friend had either forgotten the plethora of envious and adoring commentary on his gleaming treasure of teenaged transportation, from nearly the entire student body, or that his ego had apparently not gotten its fill.

He was, however, relieved at Vinnie's spectacular avoidance of discussing what in the Hell was wrong with him all day.

So, Reggie wrinkled his snout with an incredulous titter, at the thought of a motorcycle taking a liking to any sentient being (-_The very thought indeed_, Lucy would have said with a territorial pout-), and bent over to examine the bike further, with an overtly inquisitive and gentlemanly air.

He'd look like the spitting image of his grandfather, if he had a monocle at hand.

"I will admit, this is quite the..._ominous bird of yore_."

As if that one lame quip were bombarding the cheesiest of cannon fire at him, Vinnie was quick to groan in swift and jocose response, emitting all breeds of "Ooohooohs", "Uggghhs" and "I-can't-believe-you-just-said-dats", wheezing and grappling at his chest.

"H-he's quotin' Poe! Somebody! Anybody! G-get the salts!"

(Vinnie had always joked that the humans with more, shall we say, dark and foreboding tastes -Gothics, Reggie think he heard the vamp called them; a very macabre bunch, but fun to hang out with in dank and dim clubs, apparently- were the few to 'get it right' in worshipping the nineteenth century poet, who was something of a patron saint to monster teens everywhere. Even to those like Vinnie, who wasn't one to let the public know he was literate.)

And, just like a dying man, or more appropriately, a desperate and poorly trained thespian, before his once and only curtain call, Vinnie spun and stumbled into something of a mock Danse Macabre, dragging out his maudlin performance into full circle around his motorcycle and Reggie, complete with choking coughs and repulsive gagging sounds.

Reggie just rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his wry grin. "And here I am without my wilted lily." He sighed to the patchy late-afternoon, craning his head skywards as if to explain to the heavens the silliness of his suddenly demented ballerina friend.

"Ooooh-hoo! Reg! T-thy...beak! T-take it out...from thy heart!" quoth Vinnie before putting an end to his theatrical 'suffering,' and throwing a good portion of his dead weight against the lycan's back in one fell slump. His arms and head bonelessly draped over Reggie's hapless shoulders, nearly knocking both boys off-axis.

Vinnie was bigger than him.

Of course, this observation didn't take a lot of skill or intellect; even a monster with brainmatter dribbling from his nostrils could make the distinct comparisons between the vamp's broad chest and shoulders, versus Reggie's knobby limbs (-Who was he kidding? They've been in the same gym class for the past two years. Compared to him, Vinnie was a mere chisel away from a paragon amidst Greek sculptures-). Likewise, this was far from the first time Vinnie had tested the fortitude of said skinny frame, known far and wide for hurdling over, under, around and through every wall of personal space that Reggie had established over the course of his young life, cobbled entirely out of demure timidness and sheer courtesy. Hugs, noogies, pats on the back and even the occassional ear scratch (the last which he didn't mind in the least), the were-teen had known and embraced them all. **...**

Even so, despite the brotherly nature of this embrace at the moment, one which only offered happiness and empathy, from his best friend no less, Reggie all at once felt an aching compulsion to challenge this so-called obvious 'comparison' of who was truly **weaker**.

"Vinnie? Ehrmm...may I please have my spine back?" Was what Reggie instead asked, a sad laugh wisping through, despite suddenly feeling very tired, irritable and a bit nauseous. He emphasized his point by gingerly prodded his forefinger claw into Vinnie's wrist, noting how sharp all five on his hand appeared. It was a mere two nights ago Reggie had practically snipped them down to the bone, as part of his three-week regiment.

Reggie's question was followed by a small and final bout of less than attractive noise making, as well as childish mini-spasms into his shoulder, before Vinnie casually popped his head back upright, recovering as quickly as his so-called ailing afflictions had surfaced.

"Ahhh, you know you love it." he said, briefly nestling his chin into Reggie's shoulder, his breath an inch from breezing his neck, before releasing him from his hold, which now seemed all too constricting and heavy.

-**pitiful**-

So, all sang-froid and swagger as always, Vinnie withdrew from his perch and cooly slipped around the were-teen towards his bike, making a beeline for the small compartment underneath.

"Anyways, let's roll!"

"Ssssoooo you continue to suggest..." Reggie drawled cautiously, already feeling invasively uprooted from the safety of the hard, still ground, yet oddly nible, even curious of certain dangers.

"Listen, maybe...why don't instead we take th-"

"Head's up!"

Before he could continue reminding Vinnie of his slight reservations ('Slight' as in a great and terrifying Leviathan on the precipice of an oceanic void.) he had in regards to getting on a speeding vehicle, one with zero protection from the pavement beneath them, no-less, a helmet flew into Reggie's open and unprepared paws.

Once he'd managed to get a grip on the bouncing helmet tossed into his arms, and his shameful, fumbling display of hand-eye coordination was through, Reggie sent a wary glance to the vampire, who was already astride Lucy, headgear secured over his skull.

"What?" Vinnie shrugged, his visor snapping up, exposing his toothy smirk "You of all monsters can't be worryin' about helmet hair. At least try it on?"

Despite being somewhat smaller and (thankfully) less gilded than Vinnie's, Reggie assumed the spare did, by all accounts, seem just as safe, mainly on the basis of how heavy it felt. He wondered at how exactly Vinnie expected him to wear such a thing and not collapse beneath something so greatly weighed down; but perhaps he wasn't giving his backbone's strength its due credit today.

He ran his claws inspectingly along the thick concaved padding that lined the inside of the helmet, making a rough estimate of how much weight it added, knocking on its solid shell. The off-black paint glowed crimson under the fast-fading light of day.

Already lifted to eyelevel, Reggie's nose itched to sniff for any traces of past occupants, but forced his baser instincts from the mental sphere to the mechanical, decidedly throwing his already failing cautions and resistance to the wind and put the damned thing on before he could change his mind.

-_**Or before he decides to take someone else**_- a nasty little thought drifting by reminded him, encouraging as much as it was provocative.

He was surprised at how comfortably the helmet settled over his ears, flattened gently against his head. Even his glasses remained undisrupted as he testingly flicked the visor up and down, impressed by the red world outside the plastic lense.

"Will I be able to talk in thi- oh!" Reggie could hear his voice carry through a small filter, a fractional half-inch from his muzzle, "Nevermind, then."

To the delight of his inner-pup, the thought of achieving his life-long dreams of travelling to outer space suddenly felt so real and highly attainable, giddily tiptoeing through at he turned his head back and forth, as if examining some extraterrestrial plane.

"Lookin' good," Vinnie said approvingly. "That's ermm...a pretty good start, buuuut...I think you can do better." The vampire teen slid back on his suddenly all too dangerously narrow seat, patting the allotted space now between his spread legs.

"Oh no...egads, no." Reggie monotonously groaned.

The gist of this implication, though easy enough to read, compelled Reggie to double take his surroundings, hoping -for the love of Science, Math and Rat Man combined- that no one was watching and jumping to any groundless, not to mention somewhat embarrassing, conclusions.

"Vinnie, I'm honored, but I can't operate a motorcycle."

"Can't or won't?" Vinnie asked, cocking his sheilded head sideways with a marionette bob.

"...either? No wait! Both, actually!" Reggie bit back the urge to snap down his visor, but for some reason didn't feel any urge to remove his helmet. At least not just yet. Vinnie did remove his, however, looking a bit dissappointed though still breathing optimism through his huffy, not to mention very atrocious pouting.

It had been hours since he'd last looked Vinnie in the eye. Reggie could briefly see his pupils in this light, but the vampire quickly grimaced, blinking out the sudden burst of golden autumn burning his eyes.

"Yo, call me crazy, but didn't we have a similar back-n-forth earlier about you not wantin' to get on her _at all_?" he asked, quirking that thick, thoughtful black brow over his squinting eyes, as if they weren't bothering him at all.

It was simply astounding, if not completely unworldly, that his demeanor, just like his hair, could remained so completely unruffled in the face of actually allowing -insisting even- someone else drive his bike.

"I...tha-..." The teen wolf puffed through his mouthpiece, as he struggled with his next line of defense, irritated that Vinnie's eyebrow was still suspended above its twin. Yes, the vamp's cheek and disturbing calm geniality should have been more than enough inspiration to force that helmet off and hurlting back in his direction, but Reggie's arms instead folded over his chest with a restrained resignation. "That may be, but driving it is entirely differe-"

"Woahwoahwoaah! _Her_, Reg! Show a lil' courtesy for m'girl, hmm?"

"Vinnie, I say this as your best friend, standing on the sidelines of one highly questionable relationship with your...eh Lucy, but sometimes I worry about your mental health and sincerely hope you've been getting enough air under that helmet."

Reggie was satisfied to see that ambitious brow finally lower in defeat; that endearing pout remained though, as the vampire turned his affections on restoring Lucy's slewn honor and ego, as if either were existing emotions that the bike was able to express.

"...Don't worry baby~..." Vinnie cooed lovingly, pressing his ivory cheek to his 'lady's' polished, dash panel bosom. "That big~ bad~ wolf~ didn't mean it~..."

Often times, Reggie was amazed at his own sense of foresight and all the unpredictable, if not bizarre things he'd come to expect from Vinnie, often causing him to overlook astronomy and physics, and mull over a future in the field of Psychology and Mental Health.

"Vinnie listen, I meant that I'd be willing to ride..._her_..." he forced, blushing at the thought of some perverser ear overhearing fractions of this discussion and making even more wild speculations than the ones he had likely doomed himself to earlier today. "...I-if _you_ were the one driving, because you're a registered and liscenced cyclist."

"Heh. Registered and liscenced, he says. Good one."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." the lycan mumbled through a grit grimace.

"C'mon Reeeeg!" Vinnie moaned, at last pulling from his bike's shiny embrace. "It's not like we're gonna get arrested."

Reggie shot him a look that begged to differ; one of which that could only be in reference to _that_ incident during last year's holiday party, involving a record breaking blizzard, the mascot from Gravedale's rival school, Galaxy High, and a children's ball pit, located at that popular fast food restaurant downtown. And gelatin...lots of gelatin...

"...well...so long as we're careful..." Vinnie murmured, shooing away the more unpleasant memories of that particular holiday brush with the law (as well as one count of an indecent display of holiday cheer on Sid's part) with a dismissive wave of his hand, "Look, just give it a try? That's all I'm askin'. James Bond himself couldn't do the things I've seen you do while driving."

"Vinnie I flattered, but cars and motorcycles are two completely different modes of transportation."

"Left. Right. Engine. Break. I fail to see the big difference! It's practically like riding a bike- err, bicycle, y'know."

"Yes! There is a problem actually, because I've never ridden a-"

***Beep-Beep-Beep-BEEEEEP* *Bee-Bee-Beep-BEEEEEEEEEEP***

The speedy approach of a creamy little mother-of-pearl convertible, that looked as if it had been carved directly from the brain of Georges Paulin himself, interrupted what would have been a very humiliating confession for any teenage boy, human or monster, as it swerved around the distant corner of the parking lot. The shrieking skid of the car, literally teetering along on its left wheels, and the thrum of "C'est si bon" bursting from the speakers could only mean that Blanche had managed to play keep away with JP's keys long enough for her apathetic beau to just give up and let her drive already.

Vinnie and Reggie simultanously swore to themselves that they'd fondly remember that utterly brave, completely whipped schmuck.

"Yoo Hooooo! Aftah-noon boys!" Blanche's huge starlet shawl ballooned at the speed they were driving, like enormous black bat wings, swirling around the heart shape of her sweet-pea green face and cat eyed sunglasses. With one gloved hand lifted and twisting blithely, the other just barely touching the steering wheel, she half-stood from her place in the driver's seat, grinning and waving like a debutante on parade.

"-and in the name of great Jacob Marley's ghost, stay in your seeeeeaa-AAAAHH! WAIT! WATCH THE ROAD! WATCHITWATCHIT-"

Completely ignoring the desperate and terrified mantras of her regretful boyfriend, strapped tight into the passanger seat, and whose complexion was beginning to perfectly match her own, Blanche's lax composure appeared as frightening as it was adorably hilarious, wholly undeterred by the jerking serpentine shifts of the convertable.

Despite the given, somewhat generous, distance between themselves and the car's blazing path, and the ever so slight drone of the engine just barely slowing as the duo approached, Reggie could practically hear the normally slick and skilled wheels in Vinnie's brain suddenly rattle, hyperventilate and then clench to a halt in an icy panic, the only physical evidence of which coming to surface through a furrowed brow and a bizarre, tight-knit smile, which forced his fangs to stick out anxiously between his lips; Reggie could only describe such a poised, albeit frozen expression as a unholy union between silent internal hysteria and constipated sprezzatura in the face of certain annihilation (The last time he had seen Vinnie make such an expression was last November, during the brief period of time the school had issued uniforms and Headmistress Crone had forced the vamp to relinquish his beloved jacket for three excruciating days.).

-**Did it ever occur to you**- Like a deer caught in headlights, never taking his eyes from the car hurtling towards them, the vamp slowly bent his head between Lucy's handlebars, either from what Reggie could determine -**he's embarrassed**- was an instinctive yearning for some comfort there or out of sheer protectiveness, staring into the face of being wiped from existence by the ditziest driver to ever manage to plant herself behind the wheel of a speeding car. -...**to be seen with you**-

Reggie wasn't one to talk though, politely concealing his cringing flinches with every fatality Blanche and JP just narrowly avoided (Not to mention Clawford, yowling in distress; that poor fellow certainly seemed doomed to agian and again relive his mortal demise for the rest of his afterlife.), awkwardly rubbing his neck. At least his disturbed expression was mostly concealed by his helmet.

Then, as if on cue, he could feel the post-mortem motorist's gaze hone in on him from behind her shades, just as his paw grazed the helmet's plastic backing, making him become all too aware of what was on his head and just what that implied to the rest of the world.

Standing next to Vinnie and his motorcycle.

Wearing Vinnie's spare helmet.

Practically shuffling his feet the same way a bashful thirteen-year old would in this scenario.

Intrigued as much as she was undead, the southern bell lowered her sun glasses to the primmest tip of her nose, jet black lips puckered with sly fascination. This interest was certainly saying something, for a zombie who hardly studied anything past fashion magazines.

Oh.

_'~C'est si bon,_

_Ces petit's sensations,_

_ça vaut mieux qu'un million._

_~~C'est tell'ment, tell'ment bon...~'_

Ohhhhh...

A 'realization' of some kind apparantly struck, like the dented garbage that narrowly missed JP by a fraction of an inch, as it went soaring over their heads upon impact. Blanche's face split into a glittering white, if not maniacally feral grin, that practically screamed: '_Ah-I-see-wink-wink-nudge-nudge-you-know-very-well-I-will-most-certainlah-be-discreet-about-this-dear_'.

"GO FOH IT REGGIE DARLIN'! WOOOOHOOO!" was what she'd actually screamed, at the upmost, indiscreet top of her lungs, as they flew by in a terrific Francophone, mother-of-pearl blur.

The heir to the Ghastly dynasty (As he so constantly asserted himself), meanwhile, was focused on more dire things at hand, beyond lifting the morale of one of his friends. Such as the row of faculty cars they had just barely grazed. Or, yet another garbage can that went flying over their heads. Or, the chain link fence hurtling towards them at full speed. No one could hardly blame him though, as Blanche, in all her vigor and kind-hearted, whooping enthusiasm, had stamped on the gas pedal when she'd let out her encouraging cheer to Reggie.

"SOMEBODY! ANYBODYYY! CALL! THE! COPS!" JP shouted back to Vinnie and Reggie between weezing pants, twisted around and hanging out the side of his car from the waist up. Gravity, aong with Blache's driving yanked him back into his seat, just before his head became intimate with a very large, very metal stop sign.

And, in likeness to the ephemeral, unstoppable pace of a comet (Albeit ten times the speed and none of the silence, though they'd easily render their observers mute with a similar astonishment), the vehicle dashed out of the parking lot, rattling over the curb, and around the bend of thicket, vanishing as quickly as it had come.

Both monster teens, still digesting what in Hades, Tartarus and the Elysian Fields THAT was all about, were left in the dust, each with a bewildered hand numbly raised, simultaneously greeting and bidding farewell to the vapors of their friends' voices, now fading into the distance.

_~"...Just wait 'til the girls hear about this! Duzah's gonna fli-..."_

_"...Those two better not bring any food in my ca-aaaAAR! YOU IDIOT! THIS IS A ONE-WAY ROAD!..."_

_"...No time foh that sugah! I JUST WON ME A BET!..."_

_"...**TURNAROUNDBLANCHEPLEASEPLEAS EPLEEEASETURNAROU-OU-OUND**..."~_

Once the car was out of sight, Vinnie puffed out a thin stream of relief, steeling his backbone and cooling his joints enough to wrench his fingers from their double-knots around his handlebars and card his rubbery fingers through his hair.

"Yo, you've gotta admit, you ain't any worse off than Bonnie and Clyde there, that's for sure..." he said with a scoffish grunt, gesturing to the phantom space the pair left. His free arm flopped lifelessly into his lap, shell shocked and boneless.

Reggie turned to the vamp, bowled over that he was still so intent on pursuing this current fixation in getting him to drive his motorcycle. For goodness sake, Vinnie cleaned Lucy with a toothbrush and fancy imported German washcloths every weekend. Who, for argument's sake, never sweat or strove for anything beyond what humored or entertained him on a personal level.

-Who hadn't once, that entire day, shied from trying to help his best friend, with a sincere, unjudgmental interest.

The wolf-teen finally detatched, feeling oddly humbled as he surrendered to this warmest of revelations.

"Dammit all, I'll do it."

"Oo-ooh, language mister future valedicto-Waiiidasec!" Vinnie blinked, staring sideways at him, head just barely cocked in a way that reminded Reggie of his little cousin when she was just a pup. "Really?"

The lycan shrugged, "_If_ on my terms," he said, gesturing his point with a sagaciously upright index finger, "then...yeah, alright...I suppose."

"Sold! Ah, I knew it..." Vinnie whooped, dipping his head back into his helmet with mechanized grace, only perfected by daily repetitions. He gave his thigh a healthy slap, which was either a signal beckoning Reggie to climb aboard or just an excuse to look cute.

-In any case, Vinnie, by now, had known better than to try riling the werewolf up with mortifying whistling and asking over and over whether or not he'd _'-Wanna-go-fer-a-ride? C'mon Reg! C'mon! Go-fer-a-ride?!-'_.

"Soooo..." Vinnie drew out the 'o' with an sheepish drone, likely remembering that long winded discussion they'd had on the glaring differences between a werewolf and a dog-boy, the latter of whom spent most of the academic year chewing ticks out of his fur in Home economics. "What -**_*ahermm*_**- about those terms?" he nonchalantly cleared his throat, pretending to adjust the seat and belts, waiting on Reggie as he took the four steps necessary to actually reach out and touch the handlebar.

"Once and _only_ once around the parking lot." Reggie said solemnly, palm hovering exactly one inch over the handlebar. His stare bore past his reflection in Vinnie's helmet, searching for the vampire's sheilded eyes or any flickers of facial movement of some kind. "Then you drive me to get something to eat already, and we never speak of this again."

Some monsters played catch with their fathers as children; others, like Reginald P. Moonshroud, were taught the gentlemanly art of negotiation. His mother taught him a thing or two about fencing, but that's a different story entirely.

He was so tired and restless and unsure and hungry for anything at this point, that he'd nearly forgotten his manners and wondered at what a brat he must've sounded like.

"Please...that is...if you don't mind."

Vinnie's grin soaked through the mirrored mask. "Remind me to have you be my representative in court one day." he said, leaning back into what the remaining seat's cushion offered, playfully bouncing his knees together.

"Once again, I heard nothing." Mumbling all the way, Reggie barely took the loosest of holds on the handle as leverage, swinging a stiff leg over the body of the bike. Since the first time he'd been offered this ride, the lycan remained confident that the slightest faulty touch would set off an explosion of epic proportions, reducing Lucy and her riders into a smoking black smear of a crater.

The glossy finish of the dash, which, to his pleasant surprise, really wasn't too far a cry from any car's, the plushy seat and jet-black leather handles beneath his scrabbled claws had Reggie wishing he'd had an anti-bacterial gel of some kind.

"You gonna settle in sometime before dark, pilgrim?"

Yet another dry and cynical glance was shot over Reggie's shoulder, but ultimately left to imagination and a flustered sigh, blocked from sight at the furthest corner of his helmet. Not wanting to injure his neck or find out whether werewolves could actually twist their heads one hundred and eighty degrees, he instead adjusted the rearview mirror to properly glare at Vinnie.

"Considering the fact that you were supposed to be at Big Daddy's restaurant with the money you owe him at noon, I'm surprised you're in such a rush to get there." Reggie was more than aquainted with enough 'surprises' today than to let himself be agitated by the trivial fact that he couldn't recall exactly when, where and in what conversation the vamp had informed him of this.

"Yo, tech-ni-cally my knife-happy boss said to bring it by _lunch_, not an exact time." Vinnie asserted, playfully bobbing his knees against Reggie's hips as he found his bearings in that too narrow seat. "And after all, -belt's under the seat, by the way- we're headed there any ways to further support his business."

"Always the entrepreneur, aren't you?"

The vampire's diminutive reflection in the mirror only retorted with a cheerful waggle of his fingers in return.

"Might I ask where the breaks are?" Reggie said, looking on either sides of Lucy's flank, gulping at how high up they suddenly seemed.

"Chill Reg. I haven't even started the engine yet and you already want to know how to stop?" Vinnie whined, feigning some personal injury. "C'mon you're a way better student than that."

"R-refreshing, hmm?" The werewolf was so wrought with anxiety that he'd nearly jumped to his feet at the slight sensation of Vinnie's shifting from side to side, patting his jeans and leather coat pockets, likely in search of his keys; the location of the ignition itself, however, was lost upon Reggie.

A strained but positive grunt then rumbled behind him, affirming success, followed by the faint jangles and clicks of dangling metal and plastic. Through the mirror, Reggie watched as Vinnie lifted his helmet enough to press what looked like a skull-shaped key chain to his lips. Its eyes blinked brightly as the vamp breathed a whisper of life into it.

"Er, what was that Vinnie, I didn't qui-"

Reggie could scarcely hear the vamp then shout something about the 'clutch' or the wonders of 'osmosis' over the sudden scorching blast of engine. Practically burrowing himself behind him in the seat, Vinnie wholly cloaking his back in a tight embrace, left arm wrapped around his waist and cupped at the hipbone.

"W-wait! Vinnie hold on! I don't kno-"

"Too late! You're learnin'!"

Reggie barely had a tenth of a second alloted to hold his breath as another arm snaked out from under him, lunging itself over his hand. Fingers a whiter shade of pale squeezed and twisted his own firmly around the handlebar, knuckle to fingernail.

Every trace molecule of oxygen was sucked out from his chest, pulsing a filigree of swelling adrenaline through his veins with the sudden yank of motion. Though the storm of their surroundings rushing at them, he was almost certain, .01% at least, that he could feel the single thump of a heartbeat, shadowing his own.

Swallowed whole by a vacuous thrill that felt like joyful screams and terrified laughter, Reggie was utterly ignorant to the gauzy suspicions Vinnie had held tenaciously to since that morning, now 100% confirmed.

**He wasn't so much left in the dark as he was freeing himself to it, beat by beat.** But at least Reggie wasn't alone.

...TBC

A/N: Well it certainly has been a while, hmm? Oh, who am I kidding! It's been a massive, big, huge BASTARD amount of time, hasn't it? HASN'T IT?!

Look up.

Now back down.

What's that? A sorry-ass explanation!

For nearly two years I was completely engrossed in completing a 150+ page Senior Project, and had finally finished last September (Allowing me to graduate! YAY!). It was my white whale and I harpooned it right in its arrogant blow hole.

-That and looking for a paying job in my field has seriously consumed my life for the time being.

On that note, after such a long time of denying myself any creative outlet whatsoever, I was nervous that I lost all my skills, and would end up bailing on this story like a wuss.

-Buuuut, now I have available to me a nice, wide-open span of time while I struggle to find work...luckily, I'm one of those passionate writers who is dead set on dying impoverished, obscure, starving and, most likely, stewing in alcohol. Just like the pros.

What I am sorry about is that this update is all kinds of pitiful short, powerful late and isn't moving the plot that much, but I really wanted to set up a little internal conflict and relationship development between the characters before things really get cooking.

I'm going to be perfectly honest, I am really...REALLY crap-lousy at dialogue, so if anyone has any tips or advice, I'd be more than grateful! I feel like every time I want to convey an specific expression or emotion, I end up making everyone super OOC and transform them into a bunch of exasperated, stammering New England/mid-Atlantic tsundere ninnies, with their errs, ehhs and old person type bickering.

-Look out JP and Blanche! Your rival power-couple, Vinnie and Reggie, just crashed the Monster Country Club...wow, full of idiotic plot ideas today, am I not? (If anyone wants to pick up that cracktastic idea, by all means.)

Hopefully the next chapter will be more prompt and contain less hyphens, amahrigh?! So anyway, please feel free to think up some creative threats to prompt me and glare menacingly at me on your way out...

Also, the cousin to whom Reggie is referring, is Winnie, a character from 'Scooby Doo and the Ghoul School'. I noticed a lot of Gravedale High fans and fanfic writers have been crossing over to that movie and peg her as Reggie's little sister, but my headcannon says cousin (Sorry for rockin' the boat Billy!).

Also-also, this is JP's car according to my imagination:

wiki/File:Peugeot402DSE_

Her name is Hester and I want it for reasons. If anyone out there is curious, JP's car horn is supposed to be the score from Beethoven's 5th. _**Dun-dun-dahh-duuuuun!**_

-Until next time, I'm off on my va-cay! Au revoir!


End file.
